


Dawn of the Last Dragonborn

by xKalahira



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Betrayal, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Dragon-Blooded, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Drama & Romance, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Kidnapping, Love, Love Triangles, Magic, Magic-Users, Relationship(s), Rescue, Revenge, Sexual Content, Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soulmates, Suspense, Torture, Travel, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xKalahira/pseuds/xKalahira
Summary: This is a slow burn romance. A tale of my female Breton Dragonborn and how she falls in love with two men during her struggles to go from being a sheltered, spoiled noble girl to a fierce, world saving heroine. I try to show a very human side of her. She isn't just a hero, she's a woman- broken by life, weakened by trauma and her own mistakes, but also resilient, tough, and full of more strength then she realizes.Inspired by my love for the mod, Skyrim Romance, the story centers around Anwen; Bishop, a rugged ranger who fights his feelings for Anwen from the very beginning; and Cael, a Forsworn Chief that steals Anwen's heart from the moment they meet. I started this story before the release of Skyrim Romance 3.0. As such, the changes they made with Cael & Bishop may not be completely reflected in the first chapters. With Forbidden Love being created, Cael is called the Raven and it's Bishop who is the Wolf. Even so, this is my own interpretation of both men.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Some have expressed great interest in my Dragonborn tale. Thank you for that! You've helped encourage me to keep going, as this is only one of many writing projects I have currently. Thank you for your support! 
> 
> :::::::::::::::::  
> This story was inspired by a mod for TESV: Skyrim created by Mara. She is the author of the mod "Skyrim Romance". While my Dovahkiin is my own, the characters of Bishop, Cael, and Casavir are of her creation and I take no credit for them. I received permission from Mara to use them in my story and publish it online. 
> 
> For more information on this amazing mod please visit:  
> www.skyrimromance.com  
> :::::::::::::::
> 
> SIDE NOTE :  
> Elder Scroll lore is vast and detailed (and often hotly debated), but I have done my best to incorporate it correctly, although I'm positive there are mistakes. Also, I've taken liberties with certain characters, main plotline quests (edited/rearranged to suit my story needs), and altered how the Dragonborn learns the first word of their first shout. I've also added in a few of my own lore pieces, to help drive the story and add more excitement. I also decided, for the sake of efficiency, that Anwen can learn three words of power for one shout at one word wall. That is rare in Skyrim, but it'd be rather boring to continuously describe the grinding play of exploring dragon lairs and Nordic ruins for all the word walls because there are so many. Excellent for gaming, not so great for fanfic, at least in my opinion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anwen's escape to Skyrim.
> 
> Warning: Contains a situation with kidnapping, imprisonment, physical abuse, and the possibility of rape. However you can skip it and go directly to Chapter 1, as while references are made to what happened in the Prologue, it's not detailed like this is. You won't lose too much of the story, just Anwen's initial traumatic beginning and rescue.

 

Anwen had only wanted to escape, to run from a country she no longer called home, only a prison. She had stolen away in the night, with nothing but a pack filled with all that she cared to bring from her old life. As her horse sped away into a shadowy darkness, barely lit by stars, she heard the cry go up at the gates; but, she ignored it and traveled onward into a foreign world that seemed to promise freedom.

But she had only moved from one prison to another. It's dark and she is bound. The pain in her head is making her sick and there is a metallic taste of blood in her mouth. The sounds of dripping water and the damp air on her skin tell her she's underground and she can almost feel the oppression of stone walls around her. The realization that she's blindfolded comes suddenly and fear takes over as she begins to try and move.

She can’t. Her hands are above her, ropes around her wrists and attached to something she can’t see or feel. Then she's aware she is actually hanging from the ropes, her feet barely grazing the floor, where they too are tied together. Panic sets in and she tries to scream, but only manages to half choke on the piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth.

There's male laughter.

“Look here men, she’s finally awake.” The sounds of metal against stone ring out as footsteps come towards her. Then the blindfold is removed and her eyes water as she blinks rapidly against the bright, flickering light. She is in a cave, as she had suspected, lit up by torches. It's a large cavern full of mostly men, with a few of them walking towards her, leering smiles on their faces. They wear mismatched armor and carry swords at their side with shields and bows on their backs. Criminals. Murderers. Thieves. Bandits. As the realization washes over her, and she understands what is happening, Anwen begins fighting hard against her bindings.

More laughter. This time some of it is female. “The bitch seems to think she’s going somewhere.”

“Oh, she is.” A deep voice comes out of the hulking man now standing in front of her. He is wearing steel armor and his bulging muscles are barely concealed. He has the air of the leader of the group. The smirk on his face and the lust in his eyes scares her. “She’s going to warm my bed tonight.”

“What about the rest of us?” Says a tall, dark haired man with a long beard and leather armor.

“I found her. She’s mine first. You’ll have to wait until I’m done.”

Finally finding her strength again, Anwen struggles against him as he runs his hands through her hair and then down the length of the front of her body. She recoils from his touch that she feels through the thin cloth dress that barely covers her. All her armor was gone and her body is exposed and vulnerable. That thought terrifies her even more.

“Mmmm. I bet she tastes sweet.” The man leers at her, grabbing her ass and pulling her into him, so that her breasts are pushed against the metal covering his chest. Pulling off her gag, he forces her head towards his. The putrid stench of his breath makes her begin to retch, as he attempts to press his filthy lips onto hers. Anwen tries to turn her face away, but she is helpless and he only takes his left hand and yanks her head back by her hair. “Don’t think you can fight me wench. You’re mine now.” He sneers, his dark eyes narrowed and locking onto hers with promises of the horrors to come.

To Anwen's surprise, instead of her fear increasing, an unfamiliar power starts to fill her body, pushing it away. She glares at him, trying to convey all the hatred that seems to envelope her entire body. Anger is making her start to shake and she knocks her forehead into his. Hard. This sudden show of force momentarily stuns him.

“Gods curse you!” She spits directly in his face.

Laughter rings out through the whole cavern and the bandit chief’s face goes red with rage. He hits her hard across the face, the impact almost knocking her unconscious again. There is more blood in her mouth and everything begins to go dark and fuzzy. She feels him rip off the cloth dress that had been covering her body.

“I think this bitch needs to learn her place boys.” The man’s voice comes out hard and angry. He cuts Anwen down from what was holding her in place and pushes her hard onto the stone floor. Her head hits a stone and she cries out in pain. She felt a gush of blood run down her face, but she is powerless to do anything, her hands still tied behind her back. Her naked body is completely exposed as he pulls her towards him and cuts the ropes binding her feet. She kicks out hard, but multiple sets of rough hands are suddenly on her, holding her body down.

“Turn her over.” Roughly she's pushed onto her stomach as the bandit chief picks up something she can’t see from the floor nearby. Moments later the whip hits her with such force her body convulses and an unbearable pain courses through her as her skin splits beneath the leather. As she feels blood began to drip down her back, Anwen screams. It happenes again, then a third time, and a fourth. Each time harder than before. Her cries of agony ring out through the cavern. She is going to die from the white hot pain.

“Please, no, stop!” She begs, her tears cutting a path down through the dirt that covers her face.

But her pleas go unheeded and Anwen screams again as the whip lashes across her back once more.

Then she feels the bandit chief move closer towards her, his hot breath in her ear, the smell of sweat and stale mead filling her nose.

“You say something bitch?” There is no mercy in his voice.

“Please, please.” She cries, aware of the increase of blood trickling down her sides.

“By the Nine, don’t kill her yet Fritjof. She’s practically begging for you now. And I mean, look at her.” The male voice comes from somewhere behind her, distant in the tormented recesses of her mind.

She sees through the haze of pain as the chief pauses for a moment and then throws the whip down on the floor. Anwen is too broken to fight back now. Her body is on fire with an agony she has never felt before and her face is pushed sideways into the dirt and stone of the cavern floor. Her hands are still tied and she can’t move her arms.

Unexpectedly, her head is dragged up by her hair, a bottle pushed into her mouth and the entire contents, a sweet liquid, forced down her throat. Anwen coughs, almost choking, spitting some out in an effort to breathe.

“Give it a second little girl and then you’ll be feeling much better.” It's a female voice this time, the tone flat and unsympathetic. Almost immediately, Anwen's mind is floating, everything turned brightly colorful and blurry. Her body fills with a tingly numbness that doesn’t quite completely mask the burning pain.

The bandit chief moves behind her and begins to undo the belt around his waist. “Men, why don’t we give this wench what she’s begging for. In fact, let’s see how long she’ll last.” Raucous laughter echoes around her.

Though barely conscious, the horror of what is about to happen feels very clear. They are going use her until her body is shattered. She is going to die.

*Swoosh* A grunt and then a thud.

“What the-?” Another *swoosh* followed by more grunts and thuds, like bodies hitting the floor.

Suddenly there is chaos, noise of shouting and fighting all around her. Anwen is unable to see what was going on, her head spinning from both the pain and the drug now coursing through her body. She feels the thunder of more people move into the cavern.

Suddenly another set of hands is upon her and she tries to struggle, but is barely able to move her body. This time it is a softer male hand that covers her mouth and strong, gentle arms that lift her up off the floor. “Shhh, little sparrow, I’m not going to hurt you.” He cuts the bindings around her wrists and she feels a warm fur cover her body. The man, cradling her in his arms, moves past shouting, fighting, swords clashing, the slam of shields, and the whoosh of arrows. Even if she wanted to fight, she can’t, and everything falls into darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Cael had seen it happen. Had seen her taken that night. He had been out, hunting alone, enjoying the moonlit, quietness of the forest near his village. As a hunter and a Forsworn, bound to this land by body and soul, he moved like a wolf stalking his prey when he first saw the fire and heard the scream. He had crouched in some foliage that surrounded the small glade where the girl was camped. The bandits had simply walked in, dragging her out of her tent and knocking her out with a blow to the back of the head. She went limp, her long, dark hair dragging in the dirt, her pale skin shadowed in the light of her dimly burning campfire. They had stolen everything in her possession and disappeared into the darkness.

Anger had surged through his blood and he had gone back to his village to gather his men. This poor innocent would not be another victim of these Nord savages.

With 10 strong hunters from his clan, Cael tracked the bandits to their hideout. The inner entrance to an old Nordic ruin. They had been quick and quiet when they entered. With the element of surprise, they took down the brutes, with no mercy for the women, who were just as savage and ruthless. When he saw what the bandit chief was about to do to her, saw her helpless, bloodied body treated in such a way and heard her cries of pain, Cael's arrow had been swift, hitting his mark. When the arrow struck between his eyes, the chief had fallen hard, hitting his head on the stone floor, life gone from his body. As his men took down the rest of the bandits with ease, Cael had scooped the girl off the floor and covered her up, determined to get her out of that terrible place as quickly as possible. She barely had the strength to struggle against him and had passed out in his arms. Her breath was shallow, an alarming amount of blood covering her face and body. She was slipping away.

He returned to his mount outside the ruins, an elk, and gently putting her onto it, he gracefully leapt up behind her. Holding her tightly against him, he urged the silver elk back to his village. He must get her to a healer.

“Stay with me, little sparrow, “ He whispered into her ear as her limp body collapsed into his. Cael gently pushed his head against hers to keep it still. He could feel the heat and wetness of her back against his chest and knew she was bleeding heavily. The blood traveling down her face had not slowed and he feared he may not make it in time to save her.

Cael rode into the village calling for the healer, sliding off his mount with the girl in his arms and rushing to the old woman when she appeared. He walked quickly past her and went inside her tent. When instructed, he placed the girl gently down onto a soft bed and allowed Malin to work her old magic, his heart beating much faster than usual.

For a few minutes, he was frozen, watching Malin tilt the girl’s head and gently pour potion down her throat as she whispered spells. The girl was pale.  Death was beginning to creep through her broken body. Fear gripped his heart. Malin continued her work, grabbing another small bottle from the little table to the side and gently pouring this into the girl’s mouth also. Another few agonizing minutes passed, but then the girl’s breath slowly became deeper, normal. Malin began cleaning the blood and dirt from her limp body. She whispered words that begin to slowly heal the outer cruelty of the girl’s captors that showed all over her skin. He helped Malin turn the girl onto her side and work her magics on the deep wounds that covered the girl’s back. Then he stepped back and washed the blood off his own chest, as the terrible injuries across the girl’s head, face and body stitched themselves together. She remained unconscious, her limp form was incredibly delicate to him and he felt overcome with an urge to hold her, to shelter her body with his. He didn’t understand this feeling consuming him as he watched her. Malin glanced at him a few times, but said nothing, continuing her work. In time, the old woman was done and covered the girl in more furs, telling Cael that she had done all she could and it was now up to the gods. She believed the girl would live, but only if she awoke, and she would come fetch him as soon as the girl did. Cael simply looked at Malin and the old woman patted his arm, reading his unspoken thoughts, and walked out of the tent.

He had not been able to leave her. Something held him there. So, he sat and held her hand, watching her chest rise and fall. Her dark hair spilled across the bed she lay upon, her skin pale as snow, and he wondered what he would see in her eyes when she opened them. He sensed a power about her that he could not place and that only deepened his desire to know her, and understand why she had been placed in his path.

As dawn turned into day and his men returned, having completely destroyed the Nordic savages that had taken over the ruin, Cael sat with her. His village slept and he stayed, determined to watch over her. It wasn’t until the evening, when his clan began to come alive, that she finally awoke; and, as she slowly opened her eyes, he saw it. It was beyond the deep shades of blue and green that surrounded her dark pupils, a burst of fire that appeared briefly inside her eyes. It was a power beyond anything he had been shown by the Old Gods. Her blood.

She was blessed with the soul of a dragon.


	2. The Raven of The Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anwen's survival is due to the actions of one mysterious stranger. Cael. And the consequences are devastating.

Sound came back gradually.

Anwen felt as though she was walking out of a deep, dark abyss. Her body was warm, and a hand reached out to her, pulling her through towards something bright. Opening her eyes, blinking rapidly at first, she saw another pair staring back at her. Despite an awareness of another hand, a larger, stronger one, grasping her own, she wasn't afraid. The eyes were a beautiful pale blue, his silhouette framed in white light. They were kind and soft, yet fierce and intense.

Anwen's throat was dry, her body stiff, and she coughed as she tried to gather an understanding of where she was. The scene was like a dream, fuzzy around the edges. A round cup was placed at her lips and she drank, the coolness of the healing potion was soothing.

“Don’t try to speak yet.” His voice matched his eyes. Gentle. Quiet. Smooth. With the hint of an untamed spirit. She tried to focus on those mysterious eyes, which were staring intently into hers. “You were badly injured, my sparrow. But you have been healed. However, the stress done to your body will take time to fully mend. Rest, little one.”

She didn’t have the strength to do anything but close her eyes again, allowing herself to fall back into nothingness. When Anwen awakened later, all sense of time was gone.

Once more, as reality streamed back into her consciousness, Anwen had a realization of someone beside her. However, all new thoughts were pushed aside when her mind became alert to the fact that she was laying on something soft, her body completely naked, and covered only in heavy furs.

The painful haziness that had taken over all her senses was broken instantly, and she convulsed in a violent manner, trying to sit up, confused and terrified.

“Shhhh, no.” The soothing voice and compassion filled hands from earlier grabbed her shoulders and tenderly pushed her back down onto her bed. “Slowly, little sparrow. Be calm. Breathe. Allow yourself to come back to life." He spoke just above a whisper, the tone of his voice cascading around her like warm sunlight.

“Where am I?” She whispered, disoriented, eyes slightly watering as she blinked against the sudden whiteness of light behind him. Her voice felt almost broken, as if she had forgotten how to use it.

He smiled, holding her right hand with his left and pushing hair out of her face with long, gentle fingers.

“My sweet sparrow, you are in a tent in my village, in The Reach. Not far from Markarth.”

“The Reach? Markarth?” Anwen’s voice conveyed her bewilderment at his words.

“Skyrim. You are in Skyrim.” His tone was full of concern. “Do you remember nothing?”

For a moment, her mind worked hard. It felt sluggish.

Then it all came rushing back.

“I crossed the border from High Rock...had been traveling for so long. I was exhausted and had camped for the night. Men came and took me. Hit me. I remember waking up in a cave-“ Fear flooded her and she ripped her hand out of his to feel her body for injury. Had they done what they intended? What had happened?

“You’re safe, little sparrow. I did not allow them to touch you.” The smoothness of his voice had a calming effect on her. It was deep and smokey. As if unintentionally seductive. And unlike any man she'd heard speak before.

Anwen stopped moving and instead, turned her head to look back into his eyes again. There was a ferociousness behind them, but the gentleness of his spirit was evident. He had the palest blonde hair, that looked as though he spent much of his time running his hands through it, the way it stood up, messy and spiky. The darkness of the war paint he wore around his eyes trailed down his cheeks and stood out against the whiteness of his skin. He looked so young and yet, a wisdom emanated from him. He smiled at her.

“Might I know your name, sweet one?

“Anwen.” She still was dizzy and unsettled, as if she had been misplaced in time. He stroked her hair, his touch was incredibly soothing.

“It is good to meet you, dear Anwen. I am called Cael.”

There was something enchanting about him that Anwen could not shake, but it made her relax and feel safe.

“Thank you, Cael, for rescuing me.” She whispered, not exactly sure why she spoke those words so softly.

“We were meant to meet, sweet sparrow. I saw them take you and in that second, I knew I could not let them hurt you.” Cael reached over and took her hand again, rubbing her palm lightly with his right thumb as he held it gently in his other. “You came here from High Rock? I don’t know much about that part of Tamriel, but I take it you travel alone?”

“Yes. I had to-had to leave my...home.” A sadness crept into her heart, but she pushed it aside. “My weapons, my armor. They took everything I owned didn’t they?”

“Have no fear, my sparrow. My men were able to locate your belongings, though I fear your horse was lost. I'm sorry.”

Anwen said nothing. Phoenix had been her horse for years, a dear companion when she needed to escape the tyranny of her stepmother and find a moment of peace. Just another broken piece of my former life, she thought bitterly.

Cael was also quiet for a few seconds, but when Anwen finally turned her eyes back to his, she saw that they had darkened. There was a fierceness that existed just beneath the surface of his gentle nature and it appeared suddenly, like a wild animal. His face took on the look of a predator taking down his prey and his tender voice became a hard and cold.

“Those soulless bastards paid in blood for what they did to you. The violence they inflicted on your body was returned in full. They will never harm anyone again.” He looked past her, staring at the wall of the tent, as if reliving the memory of that night.

Silence fell between them again. Anwen wasn't sure if she should speak as she had sensed a shift in his spirit and her own memories of that terrible night made her start to shiver under the layers of furs. Cael noticed and tightened his grip on her hand.

As Anwen watched, his eyes darkened even more, the pale color deepened into a shadowy blue and his body seemed to radiate a heat. When he spoke, it came out like a growl, low and almost raspy. Like a wolf.

“Too many times have the savage Nords of Skyrim captured and killed the innocents of this land. They take as they please, with no thought for their actions and the loss of those left behind. What they will, they force on others, and kill all those that stand in their way. They are cowards and I will not stand idly by, watching them destroy homes, lives, people. Not when I have the ability to stop it.” Cael’s rage was clear and Anwen wondered what injustices he had witnessed or endured that would elicit such terrible pain. In her experience anger existed because of such pain, of broken hearts and broken promises, loss and sorrow.

Despite this intense rage, she realized that she didn’t fear him.

“Thank you, dear Cael.” She whispered, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for keeping both my body and soul alive.”

At her gentle words, Cael’s eyes appeared to clear, the pale blue color returned and the shadows disappeared. The rage vanished as quickly as it had come and he looked back down at her. The fire that Anwen felt from him, turned into a gentle light and he smiled, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

“Sweet sparrow, you have the heart and soul of a dragon. I could never let anyone take that away.”

Anwen wasn’t sure how to respond to such a statement. She was still incredibly dazed by the events that had occurred in such rapid succession and Cael’s touch was leaving her more confused. The sensation of his skin against hers sent tingles across the back of her neck. An electricity ran the length of her body and she became aware again that she was covered only in furs. She also suddenly noticed that Cael was bare-chested, wearing only a string of animal teeth around his neck, leather and fur greaves with fur boots, and leather demi-gauntlets. His strength was evident in the thick, muscular form of his chest and arms. Anwen's skin burned suddenly hot and she broke her gaze away from his face. To her surprise, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned it back towards him, grazing a finger across her lips.

“Anwen, of High Rock, with the strength of a dragon in your blood, I have never felt more honored and humbled by the presence of such a beautiful woman. I feel blessed by the Gods to have found you.” The sweetness of his words was followed by the gentleness of a kiss on her cheek. When Cael pulled away, even he seemed surprised at the moment that had just passed between them, as if he hadn’t had control over his actions.

Unsure of what to say, she simply looked at him, knowing they were both feeling the deepness of the unexpected emotions passing between them.

A sudden urge to sit up and kiss him overcame her.

The tension that was quickly developing was broken rather abruptly by the appearance of an old woman opening the tent flap. She was dressed similarly to Cael, but with a fur-lined leather shirt. When she saw that Anwen was awake, she scolded Cael.

“Why didn’t you send for me?”

Cael smiled at her. Anwen was beginning to believe no one could ever disagree with Cael when he smiled at them like that.

“She hasn’t been awake that long and I wanted her to understand where she was before she was exposed to more of our people.”

Anwen again wasn’t sure of his words and their meaning. His people? Are they so different from those she was used to? And why did he say that she had the soul of a dragon? Suddenly, she was overcome with exhaustion. At this point, her escape to Skyrim wasn’t feeling like much of an escape. She laid her head back on her pillow, having been unaware of even lifting it up to begin with.

Anwen tried closing her eyes and slowing her breathing. This movement did not go unnoticed.

“Dear boy, she needs rest.” The old woman said, sternly, but not unkindly. She smiled down at Anwen, who opened her eyes again wearily. “How are you feeling child?”

“Weak, but okay, I think, thank you. Did you help save me?” Anwen asked.

“You saved yourself child, I merely helped your body return to life. It was your own spirit that sustained you.” Her voice was hushed and her compassionate green eyes, surrounded by deep set wrinkles, channeled an incredible wisdom, as if she had lived life for a very long time.

Cael turned to look up at the old woman. “You sense it too, Malin?”

“How could I not?” She responded quietly.

“May I ask what you are speaking of?” Anwen interjected, completely confused. Neither Cael nor Malin offered an answer, they simply smiled again.

Cael stood up and kissed her forehead, his voice soft, “Rest my sweet sparrow. “

And then he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

It was many days before Anwen was able to get out of bed. During that time, Malin continued to tend to her, giving her healing potions regularly, and Cael came to see her every day. Sometimes he stayed for only a few minutes, other times, when Anwen felt up to talking, he would linger longer. After almost a week, the visits began lasting many hours, and they often talked through the night. Cael wouldn't leave until after Anwen had fallen asleep. He would sit next to her bed and hold her hand, as if he were her protector. It helped give Anwen a sense of peace and Cael’s visits became as essential to her healing as the potions Malin had her drink.

She had been plagued with nightmares since the first day she had awoke after her attack and almost every night after that she would wake up shaking, drenched in sweat, and wondering if her screams had been only in her dreams. Perhaps this was why Cael had begun coming to stay with her every night. It was only his presence that helped her rest.

Malin either knew of the nightmares or sensed that she was having them and gave Anwen a daily potion to aid her in a dreamless sleep. It was clear Malin was accomplished in the arcane arts and Anwen wondered what other gifts she might have. Anwen herself had the gift of magic, but not healing skills like Malin's. Cael had explained that his clan were Forsworn, natives of the Reach who had been in a bitter battle against the Nordic people of Skyrim for centuries. Still, Anwen didn't fully understand why there was such hatred between their people and the Nords and she was afraid to ask too many questions because, despite Cael's gentle and kind nature, she could tell that it was a subject best left to rest.

Soon, Anwen began to feel like herself again. Her wounds were completely healed, leaving no scars, a testament to Malin’s power. Anwen noticed that Cael’s clan seemed to be most active in the evening and at night. So, early one evening, when she was alone in the healer’s tent, she finally decided she was ready to move around on her own.

Her possessions had been carefully placed in a neat stack in the corner. Her ebony daggers, bow and arrows, leather armor, money pouch, and the few rations she had brought were intact. She was deeply impressed that Cael and his men had been able to completely wipe out all those bandits, and save her and her possessions. She was blessed by the Eight that Cael had been where he had been, at that very moment, when they took her. Or should she thank the Old Gods that Cael and his clan appeared to worship?

Anwen rubbed her forehead. The whole situation seemed almost too deep to attempt to comprehend. Slowly she started to put on her undergarments and then strap into her leather armor. The familiar feel and smell of it was comforting. Something that reminded her of the home she once had.

She stepped cautiously out into the dusk of a beautiful sunset, a cool breeze crossed her face and she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling. When she opened them again she was stunned to see the mountains in all their beauty, set out against the darkening sky. They surrounded the valley where the Forsworn clan was settled. Anwen began to walk around the village, trying to blend into the shadows as well as she could. Still, she knew she stood out as an obvious stranger in the village and received many curious looks and stares. It was evident that each member of the clan had an assigned job that they were focusing on. There were children running around, playing, with the smell of cooking coming from a very large campfire that looked like it was set in the center of the village. Smoke was rising from the fire and she saw a spittle, holding a large piece of meat, being turned by a young girl.

“You are back on your feet, my little sparrow.” Cael’s quiet voice came from behind her and she turned quickly, in time to see him walk up and stop right in front of her, a bright, boyish grin lighting up his face.

Viewing him from a standing position when she felt normal, healthy and was able to think clearly made Anwen wonder how she had missed just how handsome and tall he really was. And by the Nine, those eyes. She could get lost in them so easily. Even at her full height and in boots, she barely came up to his shoulders and Anwen had to tilt her head to look into his face.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I just wanted to get some fresh air and look around…” Her voice trailed off as Cael took her hands in his.

He does that a lot, she thought, but, I like it.

“It’s quite alright, sweet one, no need to apologize. I’m pleased to see you are finally feeling truly better.”

Anwen allowed him to continue to hold her hands as she stared into his light blue eyes. His effect on her was so strong, it was almost unbearable.

Clearing her throat, she looked away and to the left, where some women appeared to be grinding plants into powders for potions and salves. “So, how long have I been here?”

“It’s been about a fortnight and a half.” Cael replied, letting go of one hand so as to guide her into a walk towards the large campfire. The smell of cooked meat was drifting temptingly towards them.

Anwen’s surprise must have been evident on her face because Cael said, slightly amused, “When we haven’t been talking, you’ve spent much of your time here sleeping. It’s no surprise that it passed so quickly without you realizing it.”

She nodded, allowing him to pull her gently towards some wooden chairs near the fire.

“Are you hungry, my dear Anwen?” Cael asked as they sat down.

“Actually, yes.” It was so nice to be up and moving around like a normal person again. She was handed a bowl of something steaming, a stew of some kind, that smelled delicious. Cael appeared to be watching her as she started to take a small sip. It made her feel self-conscious and she lowered the bowl from her lips and laughed.

“Are you going to watch me eat?”

Cael chuckled, but his eyes were fixed on hers with an astonishing intensity. “Your beauty is hypnotizing, little sparrow. It’s hard for me to take my eyes off of you.”

That unexpected statement gave her a fluttering feeling in her stomach.

“Cael, I-“

It was all she could manage before he interrupted.

“Eat, sweet one. There is something I must do, but I will return soon.” Standing up, he ran his fingers down her cheek and she could only stare up into those mesmerizing eyes, her heart beating slightly faster. Then Cael walked quickly into the gathering darkness. For a long minute, she watched the place where he had disappeared. The deep starry blackness that had quickly filled the night sky was broken up only by flickering torches and smaller campfires scattered across the area. The large, crackling fire in front of her was blinding in a way, and made it impossible to see where he had went.

The weakness Anwen felt in her body at that moment was not due to her former injuries. With a struggle she tried to sip the soup again, feeling other eyes on her from the women nearby. She tried to ignore the whispers.

She was nearly finished when he returned holding a bundle in his arms. He gestured towards one of the women stirring a large pot by the fire and the woman silently took the empty bowl from Anwen’s hand.

“Follow me, my sparrow.” He began walking the opposite direction from which he had come and Anwen quickly stood up to walk beside him. They passed many tents, smaller campfires, other villagers sitting around talking, laughing and working. More children ran by, giggling and calling out to each other. There is so much life here, Anwen thought.

Soon they arrived at a wooden hut, rather larger than anything she had seen so far in the village. Opening the door for her, Cael stood aside and nodded at her to walk in. Tentatively, Anwen did as he asked. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light inside the room, coming from various flickering light sources and a small fireplace on the far side of the room. Cael followed her in and closed the door. The outside sounds vanished and for a moment there was only the crackling of the fire and the sounds of their breathing.

“Is this where you live?” She asked, gazing around the room. There was a wide wooden bed against the back wall and a small desk, chair, and bookshelf next to it. It was filled with books. Closer to her was a small sitting area, with a large chair covered in furs and another small table stacked with books. The windows were also covered in various furs and leathers evidently in an effort to keep any wind from fighting its way through the glass. The walls were decorated with assorted hunting trophies mixed with pieces of art in a style she had never encountered. Pelts designated as rugs were spread out across the wooden floor. One was spread near the fireplace. It was clear this was a favorite place to sit as a few empty bottles were scattered nearby along with a stack of books. Whoever lived here loved to read.

“Do you like it?” Cael asked, placing the bundle he carried onto the bed.

“It’s lovely.” Anwen responded softly. “Very comfortable, cozy, but unlike anything else in your village that I’ve seen.”

“This building existed before my clan settled here. It had been abandoned and we built the village around it. It was designated as the living quarters for the chief and his mate.”  
Anwen’s stomach fluttered and she looked over at him. “Mate?”

“Yes. In your culture, you refer to them as a spouse, or husband and wife.” Cael was untying the small twine from around the bundle as he spoke.

Watching him in the flickering light, his arm muscles flexing from the movement, the smoothness of his skin and the obvious strength in his back distracted her briefly before she regained her senses.

“So, where is your mate then?”

Cael chucked at this as he turned back towards her. “I do not have one yet.”

“Yet?” She asked, standing still. He appeared to be searching her face, his emotions hidden in the shadows that covered his.

When Cael spoke, there was an added softness in his quiet voice. “I have been searching for too long, little sparrow. Still, I have only been the chief of my clan for about a year.”

“If I may ask, how old are you? You appear so young to be a chieftain.” Anwen was still standing in the middle of the room, not sure why she wasn’t moving. Instead Cael moved forward until he was right in front of her. The light of the fire reflected in his eyes, darkened by the shadows in the room.

“It has been 19 winters for me, sweet sparrow.” He answered, with a soft chuckle. “That isn’t considered too young in our culture. May I ask the same question of you as well?”

Anwen shifted her legs slightly and Cael reached out to grasp her upper arms lightly, his hands trailing down her arms to hold her hands in his again. The cabin began to feel hot.

“20.” She answered faintly. As before, his touch sent sparks throughout her body and she felt weak. He was so close, his smell utterly intoxicating.

“You and I are not so much different then.” Cael said in a low voice, his gaze on her hands in his and then traveling up the length of her upper body to her face. There was a tension building in the room, the flickering candles adding an aura of warm seduction. The fire crackled in the background and yet, it was so quiet.

“So, are you expected to have found a mate by 19?” Anwen asked, her tone hushed. It was as though he was instinctively moving closer. She felt the power, the fervor of the emotion that seemed to radiate from his look, the intimate stance of their bodies.

“It is understood that such a thing cannot be rushed. Love is not so easily found and I do not wish to be content with anything less than a love full of a fire that can never be quenched.”

“I see.” She felt like she was falling, his eyes were once again locked onto hers in such a way that it set her very skin ablaze under his touch. Cael’s words, as poetic and beautiful as they sounded, were incredibly sincere. Anwen didn’t doubt the earnest truth behind them. They spoke to her very soul and melted the hardness that had built up around her heart over the past few years. His face was slowly moving towards her and she wanted to give in. Yet, the instinct to protect herself kicked in and with great difficulty, she pulled herself back from the brink of losing all control, stepping away from his reach. Cael dropped his hands, his face was unreadable again.

Desperate to break the seductive tension in the room, Anwen searched for something to say. Glancing over at the bed and seeing the bundle had been untied, she began walking towards it.

“So, what is this?”

Cael followed her over to the bed. “It is a gift for you, my sparrow. A set of armor blessed by the Old Gods. The magic in this is most powerful and protective. It is a rare set, one of the few left in our clan. I can sense magicka within you and know it will suit you well.”

Anwen shook her head, extremely taken aback at the generosity. “No, I couldn’t take something so valuable from you.”

Cael smiled. “You aren’t taking it, little sparrow. I am giving it to you and it would mean a great deal to me if you would accept it.”

She was hesitant for a moment, but then nodded and smiled back at him. “If you wish me to, then I gladly accept. Thank you, Cael.”

“My sweet Anwen, would you be willing to put it on and then join me back outside?

Surprised, she could only nod in response. Cael grazed her cheek with his lips and then left the little cabin, the door snapping shut behind him.

Carefully Anwen pulled each piece off of the bundled cloth and separated them onto the furs strewn across the bed. It was similar to the clothing she had seen on the women in the village, except that instead of pants or greaves, it was a leather skirt, with a belt of wooden beads and delicate animal teeth. Slowly she removed her leathers and began to put on the Forsworn armor. The shirt was sleeveless, cut low in the chest and made of a soft leather and fur that seemed to emanate a blue glow. She gasped as the shirt, that was loose when she put it on, gently conformed to her shape and settled lightly against her skin. Anwen had never experienced such magical armor. There were delicately stitched armbands and beautifully made leather and fur demi-gauntlets. A necklace, made of tiny carved bones, set with tiny jewels, was the last thing she put on. There was unnatural sparkle to the tiny jewels and when she placed it around her neck, a sense of power wrapped around her body, like an invisible shield. As she normally wore armor that covered more of her body, Anwen felt a bit naked in the magical armor as it exposed much more of her skin. However, the strength of the magical enchantment was obvious and it did make her protected. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hair and walked outside.

Cael was standing barely a few steps from the doorway and turned to look at Anwen as she appeared. Even in the soft lights from the nearby torches, she swore she saw his face light up when he saw her.

“My sweet sparrow, you are….breathtaking, “ His voice was still quiet, but there was a huskiness that made her shiver.

Anwen was very aware of the night air that danced across her skin as Cael’s eyes lingered on her. It felt cool against the fire that had begun to burn inside her again. It was something she had never experienced before, in her entire life. Yet, this man was awakening a power within her heart that she couldn’t explain.

Cael slowly closed the short distance between them and took her hands in his, grazing them lightly with his lips. She shivered again as his touch sent more electricity throughout her body. They were so close, and his eyes locked onto hers with the same intensity as when they had been in the cabin. Though she had tried, Anwen was beginning to believe that there was no escaping the attraction between them.

His voice seemed to speak to her from across a dream, soft and gentle, yet deep and strong, “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Okay.” Anwen whispered back. Holding her right hand, Cael led her forwards towards a side of the village she hadn’t yet seen. There was an elk, covered in silver fur, grazing in the middle of a large grassy area and Cael guided her slowly until they were standing beside it. With beautiful white antlers, the elk turned its face towards them, calmly, and nudged at Cael’s outstretched hand. After allowing the elk to acknowledge his scent, Cael then reached out to stroke its head with his free hand and murmur soft words that she couldn’t understand. For a moment, she watched, fascinated at the interaction between them. Anwen had never seen an elk like this before, nor had she met one that was so tame.

“His name is Neacal, meaning ‘victory of the people’.” Cael told her softly, moving behind her to lead her closer to the magnificent creature. He stood up against her, his bare chest against her back, tenderly placing his left arm around her waist and taking her right hand to guide it with his along the elk’s back. “Let him feel you, smell your scent.”

“You tamed an elk?” Anwen was in awe, watching her hand, entwined with Cael’s, move along the elk’s soft, thick hair.

His laugh was so gentle and yet so, masculine. “He was tame for me, sweet sparrow; but, his wildness, his true spirit still exists. I would never attempt to harness or destroy that. The connection between an animal and his rider cannot be created, it must already exist.” Cael’s voice was quiet in her ear, his breath hot against her cheek. “We were placed together in this world, destined to meet, and need only find one another to discover the other had been there all along, waiting for us to find them.”

Anwen wasn’t sure if he was still talking about the animal before them, or something else. She leaned into him, eyes closing, focusing on the sensation of his hand on hers. The combination of his touch, his scent, and the sensual tone of his voice was incredibly overwhelming.

His breathing became heavier and he pulled Anwen more tightly against him, running his fingers gently up the side of her arm. “Little sparrow, you have bewitched me with your beauty and the strength of your spirit.” His words were barely a whisper now, playing with the hairs on the back of her neck.

Before Anwen could respond, Cael had turned her around to face him. He put one arm on her lower back, and gently grasped her chin with his right hand, running his thumb across her lips.

“I can no longer resist the call of your soul to mine.” He said huskily, sending a shiver that trailed down her spine.

Then his lips were upon hers in a gentle kiss. She melted into him. He was so soft, the taste of his mouth was honeyed, earthy, as if the very forest was alive inside him.

When they slowly broke apart, Anwen was breathless. And unable to speak.

Cael was looking down at her, one hand still on her cheek. The smile that appeared reflected the glow in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Come my sweet sparrow."

In one gentle motion, Cael picked her up and placed her on the elk, leaping up behind her. Holding her firmly into him, Cael ran his hand down the back of elk’s neck and almost noiselessly, Neacal began to trot gently down a path that lead into the nearby forest.

The jolt threw Anwen off balance, but Cael held onto her tightly. His arms around her, his head resting gently against hers. “Relax, let your body fall into rhythm with his.”

Anwen took a deep breath, allowing herself to lay back against Cael's chest and put trust in his strength. She was not used to riding without a saddle, but, to her surprise, she quickly developed a balance with the graceful movements of the silver elk.

“Where are we going?” She asked as Neacal continued to make his way through a thick forest, appearing to know his way without any direction from Cael.

“Someplace I’ve never shared with anyone.” There was a smile in his voice.

“Are we okay out here?” Anwen said, more anxiously than she meant to. “What about bandits? Or other animals? Wolves?”

“Shhhh, sweet one, you are safe. You will come to no harm with me.”

Anwen knew he was right. He had already saved her life once, how could she ever doubt his protection? Instead, she allowed herself to take in the beauty of the forest and the varying rays of moonlight that cut through the trees. It gave everything a magical aura that twinkled just above the surface.

As they traveled through a particularly thick set of trees and came through to the other side, Anwen gasped. They had appeared in a gorgeous glade. A massive tree, hung with dark green leaves, was set in the middle, surrounded by glowing luna moths and torch bugs that lit it up with a sparkling light. There was a body of water, slightly larger than a creek, that traveled across from the other side of a silky, grassy area. A small waterfall cascaded out of a distant rockface, the rush of water a melody added to the soft night sounds and whirring of tiny wings. Here, the shafts of moonlight that pushed through the thick trees illuminated the whole area, bathing it in a soft blue light. It was hypnotic.

The elk stopped and Cael slid off. He picked Anwen up and gently set her on her feet next to him. Mesmerized by the scenery, she began to walk around, lost in her thoughts. After a few minutes of wandering, Anwen turned back to see Cael nearby, watching her.

“This place is stunning.” Anwen said softly, feeling as though the forest demanded she whisper.

“I had hoped you would like it, my sparrow.” He too spoke in a low voice.

“Like it? Cael, it’s enchanting. It’s- it’s just what I needed, I-.” The words were lost and she could only watch as he moved towards the spot where she was standing, breasts heaving as her heartbeat quickened.

It had been so long since she'd felt any happiness, she had forgotten what it was like. It made her afraid. Afraid of feeling it, of allowing him to be so close.

Cael took her face in his hands, a finger stroking her cheek. The moonlight was a shimmer in his pale blonde hair. “Anwen," he trailed his finger across her lips, "do not be scared to let yourself feel. Nothing could take this away from you. From me. I will not allow it. You have been a treasure I never thought I could find. One I didn't know I was looking for. One I didn't know I needed so badly.”

The fire in his eyes was burned into her skin. There was a pounding in her ears, a weakness in her legs. She couldn't look away. "Cael," She said, barely able to breathe as he brought his mouth down to hers.

This kiss was faster, harder, more passionate. Gone was the gentle seduction of his lips. His hunger was her own and Anwen was lost in the taste of him.

And then he pulled back and the blazing look was wolf-like and the sound that escaped him, a soft growl. Leather was peeled off, boots tossed aside, and they collapsed onto the soft grass, a tangle of hot skin, searching hands, and sweet, desperate lips. 

 


	3. The Ranger in Riverwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Cael's rescue leaves Anwen and the Forsworn Chief at the mercy of terrible circumstances. And then she meets Bishop...

Anwen knew something was wrong the minute that Cael tensed up. He was holding her against him on their ride back from the glade and they had been talking and laughing, when his voice abruptly stopped and his grip tightened around her waist. The sudden squeeze startled her.

“What is it?” She whispered.

“I don't know.” Cael answered softly.

Neacal stopped walking, as if he could sense the agitation of both his riders.

Sliding swiftly off the elk, Cael slung his bow and quiver full of arrows across his back.

“My sparrow, I need you to stay here. Neacal will take you someplace safe if he senses danger.”

Despite the shadowy moonlight, Anwen could read Cael’s face and see that something was terribly wrong. Even the surrounding trees seemed uneasy. A light wind blew across her face. It was cold.

“Cael, what’s going on?” Her voice shook slightly.

“Something isn’t right.” He took her hand and kissed it gently, “Please, my sweet sparrow, stay here. Do not come after me. If I do not return within the hour, go to Riverwood. That was your intended destination and it is still a long journey, but Neacal will know the way.”

“What?” She exclaimed. The increased volume in her voice caused Neacal to stir restlessly, “No! I am not just going to leave you!”

Cael didn’t answer, he stroked Neacal’s head gently and whispered words Anwen couldn’t hear. The elk seemed to understand. In that moment, with the whisper of the leaves around them, the pale moonlight, and the oddly quiet forest, the whole scene felt incredibly surreal.

“Cael,” She whispered, “I don’t understand-“

She broke off abruptly when she smelled the smoke and saw the orange glow over the trees. Something was burning in the distance. And it wasn’t a campfire.

“Anwen, I need you to trust me.” His tender voice was pleading with her.

“Ok, I will-I will do as you ask.” The familiar sense of helplessness crept back into her heart.

However, her answer seemed to comfort him and Cael grasped her hand one last time before quietly dashing off into the trees toward the smoke.

Agonizing minutes went by.

Clouds covered the moon and the forest had fallen into complete silence. An eerie chilliness came with the wind. As if the Gods themselves were angry. The smells of burning wood and something else, a scent that was disturbingly like cooked meat, clung to the air. Anwen thought she heard far-off screams and shivered.

Neacal was disquiet, again moving restlessly, and caught Anwen off-guard more than once, almost causing her to fall.

She didn’t know what to do. How could she just leave? What if he was hurt? Had someone attacked the village?

No longer feeling safe, Anwen started to prepare herself to use her magic. It wasn't something she did often, but the situation was leaving her little choice. It then that Cael materialized out of thin air. His step was so light Anwen hadn’t heard him approach.

He was sweaty, breathing hard, covered in black soot, and a dark, wet substance that could only be blood. There was a wild look across his face. His eyes seemed to blaze, the rage she felt flooding out of them was immense.

Anwen was terrified.

“Cael!”

He grabbed her hand, thrusting something into it. She recognized her pack.

“There’s no time!” He breathed. “You must go! Now!” He pressed her ebony bow into her hand and pulled a quiver of arrows from his back. “Your daggers are with your armour in your pack. I managed to get all of your things, but you must leave!”

“What-what? Cael, what is going on?!?”

Before he could answer, she heard crashing sounds, as if something, or someone, were tearing through the trees towards them. Then came the shouts of many male voices. Cael had been followed and his pursuers were not skilled at stealth.

“My clan has been attacked.” Cael’s voice was a growl as he notched an arrow, looking around quickly as he spoke. “They are burning my village, they are burning everything. They want retribution.”

“For what?”

Cael turned back towards her and his hand gently grasped her chin. “My sparrow, you must flee, now! They know you are here and will try to take you! Go to Riverwood! I will find you, I promise!”

“No-no!”

Neacal seemed to understand Cael’s desire and began to move, turning in the opposite direction from him. Anwen grabbed Cael’s hand as he began to pull it away from her face. “But Cael!”

The silver elk started to take off into the forest and her hand was ripped out of his.

In desperation, Anwen turned around, attempting to stay balanced on the galloping elk. She had barely a last glimpse of Cael before a distant explosion ripped apart the starless sky behind him.

“I will find you, I promise.”

His voice faded away as the darkness swallowed him. Anwen heard the distant shouts and noise of a fight, sounds that vanished just as quickly as they reached her ears.

And she was alone once again, fleeing into unfamiliar country, lost in the blackness of another night.

 

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The journey took a little less then a week, but after two days the hours blurred together in an uncomfortable loneliness. The abrupt departure from Cael had left her unsettled and anxious. At first, she had been unable to process the extent of what happened. As before, the flash series of horrifying events elicited nothing but shock. Like someone had tossed a bucket of ice cold water across her face. A slap of reality that brought her back to a harsh and cruel world after her brief respite with Cael. The worst of it, beyond the fact that there had been no time for goodbyes, was that she did not know the fate of him or his people. The image of a raging fire enveloping Cael and his village haunted her thoughts.

Holding back the glimmer of tears in her eyes, Anwen wondered, despite his promise, if she’d ever see him again.

When they had first fled, Neacal galloped for over an hour, and then slowed to a trot, as if he knew the danger was past. It was odd to blindly allow her mount to take her to her destination, let alone an elk; but, Anwen trusted Cael and Cael had trusted Neacal to take her to safety. As the days slowly passed, a bond formed between Anwen and the silver elk. He was a comfort, as if his spirit were intertwined with Cael's.

Anwen decided to travel at night and camp during the day, taking few chances. She forced herself to stay alert, one hand on her dagger, keeping her bow and arrows across her back, but still easily accessible. Neacal walked ever onward, crossing over unfamiliar mountains and carrying her to the valleys below. Strangely enough, they ran into no bandits, wild mages, or dangerous animals. Neacal picked his way along dirt paths, on stone roads, across bodies of water, and through scratchy underbrush. He seemed to know and sense trouble before it was even close enough to be a problem. Because of this, their journey took many twists and turns, taking twice as long as it should have; but, Anwen's instincts told her the silver elk knew exactly where to go.

Into the fourth day, Anwen was exhausted and losing her focus. She had chosen not to stop unless absolutely necessary and had slept very little for most of the trip. Her rations of dry bread and dried apple pieces were almost gone and she tried to drink only as much water as needed so she didn't have to venture into the woods, on foot, for a break.

She heard the clop of horses and creak of a wagon before she saw them. Immediately her entire body froze, but, Neacal seemed unafraid and continued to walk towards the sharp turn in the road. As they came around the bend, Anwen spotted a merchant caravan and a man in a steel hauberk, walking in front, his massive sword at the ready. Obviously a guard.

He stared at her, as did the well-dressed man holding the horse reins and she realized she must be an odd sight. An exhausted, dirty girl, an obvious stranger to this country, riding an elk with no saddle. Still, they were the first people she had seen in days and they weren’t bandits. The sight of them lifted her spirits. She must be getting close to a town.

Anwen and Neacal reached the outer walls of the town of Riverwood in the late evening of the following day. Lanterns were already lit on the stone roadway that led directly through Riverwood and sunlight was quickly fading. Unsure of whether she should ride an elk into town, Anwen slid off Neacal and grabbed her pack. Though the magic upon it made it very lightweight and smaller on the outside than it actually was, her sheer exhaustion caused her to stumble and almost drop it.

Neacal rubbed his nose against her and she smiled wearily, petting him gently. Then, he turned and began to trot away. Anwen started to call out to him but realized he was attempting to return to Cael.

I only hope he is still there to return to, she thought sadly. A sharp stab of sorrow penetrated her heart.

With a deep sigh, she hoisted the leather pack against the ebony bow and arrows already on her back and began the walk into Riverwood.

Despite the late hour, Riverwood was still very active. Walls only stood to house wooden battlements, but archers were manning them, pacing back and forth, while a few armed guards stood below, chatting amiably.

Anwen became suddenly aware of her appearance. She knew she was disheveled and looked like she needed a long, hot bath. However, while one or two of the guards threw curious glances her way, no one attempted to say anything or try to approach her. Obviously, they did not see her as a threat, even with her weapons, and that was fine with her.

Her destination had been Riverwood because her father’s only sister lived there with her husband, a Nord native of Skyrim. Anwen hadn’t seen them since her father’s death two years ago and hadn’t heard from them in over 6 months, but she knew they would welcome her. She chose to flee to Skyrim for this very reason as she had no other family alive.

Walking through the gates, Anwen looked around, searching for a tavern or inn. It was a small, pleasant looking town. Stores were closing for the night, but she noticed a smithy, a path that appeared to lead back to a sawmill, a general store, and an apothecary. Greenery was scattered along the stone roadway and a dog trotted by, being chased by a little boy, who was calling after it, with a man walking quickly after him, obviously trying to catch his son. An older woman sat on the porch of a home nearby, talking to a young man. Anwen heard snatches of a conversation, “Dragon spotted in Helgen”, “Imperials”, and something about an execution. Again, talk about dragons, she thought. Are there dragons in Skyrim? According to her studies, dragons had been rendered nearly extinct after the Dragon War. In fact, many people didn't see them as anything more than legends. She decided to ask her aunt and uncle about it.

Anwen spotted an inn, up ahead, on her right. She headed towards it, a sweet relief settling the knots that had been in her stomach for days. In spite of all that had befallen her, she was in Riverwood. She had finally reached her intended destination.

A sign hung from a wooden pole beside the tavern’s front porch steps. It read “Sleeping Giant Inn”.

However, her approach did not go unnoticed. She hadn’t initially seen the two men standing across the road from the inn, but they saw her.

One of them wolf whistled and called out to her.

"Evening, pretty...lady." He was short and stout, wearing rather dirty looking miner work clothes and boots. Laughing, he lifted his mug in silent cheer, stumbling in the process. It was obvious he was very drunk. Anwen was impressed that he could speak somewhat clearly.

“Hey beautiful....were your parents....thieves?” That question came from a man with a bear pelt slung over his shoulders, standing next to his shorter friend. He took a large swig from the green bottle in his hand and grinned at her. He, too, was having a hard time standing upright and his speech was sluggish and extremely slurred.

"What?" Anwen had not expected that random inquiry into her lineage.

"Were your parents...thieves?" The man with the bear pelt asked again. He swayed on the spot.

"Um, no?" She answered, with a slightly inquisitive tone.

"But...but, how else could they afford...all those diamonds...in your eyes?" He repeated the question, his speech slow.

For a split second, her tired brain didn't fully comprehend this weird question, but then she almost doubled over in laughter.

The man appeared offended, "I'm serious!" He managed to say before falling backward with a loud "umph" into the stone wall behind him.

“Care to join us for a drink...love?" The shorter man was still unsteady on his feet, but somehow managed to continue standing.

Anwen wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, "No, but thank you. You boys have fun though."

As she turned away, the man with the bear pelt slurred to his friend, “Look, now....you drove her off....”

Walking up the steps, that lead up to the tavern’s entrance, a wide smile still on her face, she noticed another man. He was quite tall, wearing dark leathers, and standing right outside the door to the inn, leaning against the wall. He was slightly in shadow, his head bent over whatever task he was working on. When she got to the top of the steps she saw he was sharpening an iron hunting dagger. She recognized it because she owned one similar that had belonged to her father. Anwen stopped and watched him curiously for a moment, before he glanced up at her briefly, went back to his work, and then asked in a deep voice,

“Something you need, princess?”

His annoyed tone was a bit of a shock.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked, the smile fading from her face.

The man looked back up at her, his eyes running the length of her body and then settling back on her face. “I asked you if there was something you needed. I apologize, but I won’t be begging you to take me to your bed like those drunken louts down there.” He gestured at the drunken men down by stone wall.

Anwen felt her face get hot, “I wasn’t expecting, nor wanting, that kind of attention from any of you.”

“Aww princess, no need to deny the truth. I’m not judging you.” The man laughed, his eyes sparkling in amusement at her embarrassment.

“Don’t call me princess.” She shot back abruptly, rather annoyed.

“Oh, pardon me, your ladyship,” he responded in tone that dripped with condescending sarcasm.

“Are you always this rude to people who happen to walk by you?” Anwen snapped, crossing her arms.

“Only the ones that have an air of nobility about them and stop to stare and ask stupid questions." The man said this in a way that showed a complete lack of care and interest in the conversation. He looked away and went back to sharpening his knife.

Anwen was at a loss for words. Unsure of what had just happened or what else she should even say, she decided instead to move past him and open the door to the tavern. Over the music and talking that flooded out into the evening air, she heard the man chuckle to himself and anger flared up inside her. She knew though that she was dead tired and her emotions were on edge. Don't let this guy get to you, she told herself.

Thankfully, the atmosphere of the tavern broke through her annoyance and as the door closed behind her, she put all thought of the surly man out of her mind. A blast of warm air from the fire in middle of the room, followed by the strong smell of mead filled her senses. It was not at all an unpleasant experience. A tantalizing smell, filled with a lovely combination of bread and cooked meat, wafted towards her and her stomach growled.

“Welcome!” The word came from a deep and gravely male voice that cut through the din of laughter and talking. The bard standing in the corner stopped playing her lute and walked towards Anwen.

“Welcome, my lady. Might I get you a drink? Or do you need a place to stay for the night?”

Anwen smiled, “Actually I'm looking for information.”

“Ah," the blonde haired girl smiled back. “You’ll want to talk to the innkeeper, Orgnar, then.” She gestured at the man behind the wooden counter towards the back of the room.

Anwen walked over to Orgnar, a dark haired older man, wearing a stained white apron. Despite his severe features, his tone was warm and friendly and it softened his face. “Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn. You aren’t from around here are you?” A kind soul was a relief after her unsettling conversation with the man outside on the porch.

“No, is it that obvious?” She chuckled.

“You're obviously no hunter or merchant and I know just about everybody that lives in this area, so it was a logical conclusion. But, that’s not important. What can I get for you? Or are you looking for a room?”

Anwen shook her head, “I’m looking for my aunt and uncle. They live here, in Riverwood, but I don't know where. Their names are Einar and Aurora.”

At this statement, Orgnar’s smiled disappeared and suddenly he looked incredibly sad, “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Your aunt and uncle, they passed away about 4 months ago.”

Anwen’s stomach dropped. “What?!”

The poor innkeeper looked devastated to have to deliver this news. “There was a house fire, neither of them made it out alive. I’m so, so sorry. Everything in the house was lost and we had no information on any next of kin to contact with the news.”

Completely speechless, Anwen stood there, unable to move. She had put all her faith in finding her aunt and uncle in Skyrim. Now, she was truly all alone in a strange country. What was she going to do? She could return to Cael, but it might take weeks to find him again, if he was even still alive. And his clan may have moved on after the attack. The thought of making that journey again was too much. Her knees weakened and buckled. As she grabbed the counter to steady herself, Orgnar rushed around to grab her.

“Please, sit. You look exhausted. I take it you have traveled a long way to get here?”

She nodded silently as he led her over to a nearby table.

Orgnar disappeared for a moment and came back with a mugful of hot mulled cider.

“Have a drink, no charge. And you must be hungry, would you like something to eat? There's a hot beef stew I just made and we have fresh bread and fruit.”

“I-yes, thank you.” Was all Anwen could manage. She took a sip of the cider to mask the crack in her voice and the tears that had welled up in her eyes. It helped calm her down, a warmth traveling through to her bones.

A half hour later, Anwen was attempting to eat the hot stew and warm bread that Orgnar placed in front of her. She attempted to control her thoughts and listened to the bard sing. Her voice was angelic and soothing, but the words were lost on Anwen, the music settling into the back of her mind.

She knew the innkeeper was watching her, his stern eyes showed concern, and she appreciated his generosity. The food and hot cider did make her feel much better, quenching the hunger and thirst from her long trip. Though still overwhelmed at the news of her aunt and uncle, she was able think a bit more clearly after eating and resting for an hour.

As she made a movement to get up from the table, Orgnar walked quickly over to her. “Will you need a room for tonight? It’s late and you truly look like you need rest.”

“Yes, if you have one available, I’ll take it. Also, do you have a bath or somewhere I could wash up?”

“We do have a private bath downstairs. I’ll have it prepared for you.”

Anwen reached for her money pouch, but Orgnar shook his head. “No, my dear, please, I don’t want any money. I insist. Your aunt and uncle were good people and well loved. It’s the least I can do for you.”

Anwen was going to argue, but one look at his face and she knew it was pointless.

“Thank you so much. You are very kind.”

He nodded. “Give me some time to prepare your room and the bath. Please, enjoy the fire, have another drink, relax.”

He walked away again and Anwen stared at her half empty plate. All her suppressed emotions had settled into her chest. It was tight and the inn was starting to feel hot. Talk was becoming even louder as the night went on and the drink continued to flow.

I need some air, she thought.

Leaving her pack and weapons hidden under the table, Anwen made her way back across the room and pulled the door to the tavern open. The cool air hit her face and not really aware of what she was doing, she sank down onto the top step of the porch. Dropping her face into her hands, she tried desperately to not let panic overwhelm her again. She needed a plan. Trying to think of what she could do or where she could go next, some tears escaped and trickled down her face. Despite meeting Cael, this escape to Skyrim was beginning to seem like the most foolish idea she had ever had.

It had been everything but an escape.

Just more trouble, more pain, and no hope of a fresh start, of beginning a new life.

Yet, she had nowhere else to run.

Anwen had forgotten about the man she had encountered previously and was startled to once again hear his deep voice cut through her thoughts,

“Something wrong, princess?”

His words and mocking tone were too much. She had been holding it all in and, in that second, it all twisted into anger. An anger that she was ready to take out on him.

She turned to look at the rude man with a furious glare, even knowing that a few tears were streaked across her cheeks, “Who, in Oblivion, ARE you and why do you even care? Do you find joy in annoying people who happen to get too close to you? Or is it just your mission in life to be a rude ass to everyone? I mean your life must be so tough. It’s hard work to hold up a wall.”

The man seemed amused, but, also a bit impressed at her response, and not at all insulted. He was still leaning against the wall, but his arms were crossed, his dagger sheathed at his side. A bow and quiver of arrows were sitting on the bench beside him, as was a rather large white wolf she had not seen before. Startled Anwen jumped up. The man laughed.

“Is her ladyship afraid of animals?”

Again with that infuriating sarcastic tone, she thought.

“No!” Anwen snapped. “I just wasn’t expecting to see a wolf laying on the porch of a tavern.”

“He’s very well trained, I assure you. “ The man stated, still smiling in a way that showed he was being entertained at her expense.

“Not that it's any of your business, but I love animals. I had a baby fox when I was a child.” Mindful of her still possibly wet face, she quickly rubbed her hands across it and smoothed down her hair.

“Oh, really?” The man chuckled. “And just what happened to this little pet of yours?”

Anwen hesitated. She was not comfortable sharing intimate details of her childhood with this stranger. “He-he ran away.”

“I don’t blame him. If you were my mistress, I’d run away too.” The man smirked. He was clearly enjoying taunting her.

That was it, Anwen thought. She walked closer to him, his face still in shadow. “What is your problem with me? Have I done something to offend you?”

“I just don’t like little noble girls who walk around, flouting their beauty, expecting all the men to bow down and lick their boots."

It was an odd combination of an insult and a compliment. Still, Anwen opened her mouth to shoot back an angry retort, but, at that moment, the tavern door swung open and the innkeeper walked out.

“Oh, thank Talos, you’re still here! I was afraid you had left.”

The man leaning against the wall looked interested at this turn of events, watching with curiosity, an amused look still on his face.

Orgnar gave him a quick glance and then continued, “I wanted to tell you, once you have rested, I recommend going to see the Jarl of the Whiterun. He controls this Hold and may be able to aid you in finding a place to live or work. Or whatever it is you need.”

“Oh!” Anwen was surprised, but pleased at his kind consideration of her situation. “Thank you. How do I get to Whiterun from here?”

Orgnar gestured to the main road. "If you follow this road north it will take you straight there."

“Thank you." Anwen said gratefully.

“Also, your room and bath are ready,” Orgnar added, before disappearing back inside the tavern.

“Well,” the man leaning against the wall said abruptly, “The Gods must be watching over you, your ladyship, considering you just met me.”

Anwen responded with a skeptical look and sarcastic laugh, “Oh? And how in Oblivion is meeting you a blessing from the Gods?”

The man stopped leaning against the wall and walked closer to her. Now that he was no longer in shadow, she could see more of his face. He had emerald green eyes, full of that irritating amusement, with a shock of messy, dark blonde hair and a light scruff covering his face and chin. He looked to be not much older than her and had a small scar right below his right eye. If he wasn’t such a jerk, he might have been ruggedly handsome, she thought.

“Well, princess, are you carrying any coin in that little bag attached to your hip? Which, by the way, is just asking to be stolen when it’s out in the open like that.” The man crossed his arms again, smirking.

“How is it your business how much coin I carry?” Anwen said, taking the small bag and putting it into the front pocket of her belted leather pouch. She felt foolish now as she knew he was right. That little mistake made her look like the naïve princess he kept calling her.

“Because I’m offering my services.” He kept smirking at her and Anwen felt the urge to slap it off his face.

“And what services are those?” She asked, giving him another dirty look.

“Yeah, not those types of services.” He laughed. “Besides you’re not my type.”

“Look!” Anwen snarled, “Just out with it!”

“You need to get to Whiterun. Just so happens I've been there many times and know the way. I’m also a skilled tracker and could provide protection for her ladyship. Despite those fancy weapons you carry, you probably need it. Skyrim isn’t a friendly place for inexperienced little noble girls.”

Anwen glared at him, his rude words were really pushing her buttons. Yet, in her heart she knew she did need help, a guide. Her nightmarish abuse at the hands of those bandits had shown her that. But, this guy? He was so arrogant and annoying. Anwen chewed her lip, a nervous habit when she was stressed. I just need to get to Whiterun, she said to herself. If I put up with him for that trip, I can just pay him, and then leave his cocky ass there.

“Okay.” She finally agreed. “I’ll pay you to guide me to Whiterun. Tomorrow. But you aren’t getting any coin until we get there. Safely.” She added with a angry look.

“Oh, don’t you worry, your ladyship, I’ll get you there in one piece.” He leaned back against the wall. “Just come find me when you’re ready to leave. I’ll be around.”

“Fine.” Anwen snapped, opening the door to tavern.

“Sweet dreams princess.”

And that sarcastic goodnight was the last thing she heard before the door slammed shut behind her.


	4. The Blessing of Akatosh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks she's just another spoiled noble girl. Until a shocking event shows him just how wrong he is.

They set out for Whiterun the following night, Bishop feeling quite pleased with himself. In truth, Whiterun was an easy journey from Riverwood, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He needed the coin. Desperately. It'd been too many nights since he last left that tavern and boredom was taking over, not to mention his lack of septims. It was a stroke of luck that this girl appeared, desperate, and in need of a guide. 

She slept most of the day, so it was after sundown when they finally began the trek across the river to the adjoining road. Bishop preferred traveling at night, so this didn't bother him and there was no doubt the girl needed the rest. While speaking with her, it had been hard to miss her unkempt appearance and the large, dark circles under her eyes. Both suggested she'd been on the road for a long time before arriving in Riverwood. 

Still, how this girl previously survived traveling alone in Skyrim was a mystery to him. With her small build, she looked like a few wolves would be able to take her down. And she was clearly of noble birth. Her smooth, pale skin and hands showed she hadn’t done a day of manual labor in her life. The term princess certainly suited her. Maybe that was why she irked him so much last evening. Bishop knew he'd been rather mean and wasn’t sure what it was about her that provoked such irritation. 

The girl was now walking beside him, almost jogging a little, breathing slightly heavy. Even after sleeping all night and most of the day, there were still dark shadows around her eyes. 

“For the love of Akatosh, would you slow down? Some of us can’t walk as fast as you.” 

Bishop rolled his eyes to himself, but slowed his pace slightly. He’d never get any coin if she was attacked and injured, or killed, simply because he walked too fast. 

“You know, “ she continued and he sighed. He wasn’t much for idle chatter. “It’s usually polite to offer someone you’re traveling with your name.” 

“Doesn’t really need to be said princess," Bishop replied, "This is a business relationship. We're not getting married. I don’t even share my name with most of the girls who keep me warm at night.” 

He looked at her, curious to see her reaction to his remark. 

The look on her face was one of pure disgust. That made him laugh. 

“You’re really quite the gentleman aren’t you?” She asked sarcastically. 

“Being a gentleman is overrated. And it doesn’t get you anywhere in this world.” 

The girl looked him, her brow furrowed, “I'm sorry you feel that way.” She no longer sounded agitated. Just a little sad. 

“Don't be," Bishop shrugged. "I'm merely being practical.” She didn’t respond and when he glanced back over, the girl appeared lost in her own thoughts. 

After that, they walked in silence for awhile. Curiosity had Bishop constantly sneaking glances at his somber companion. There was something different about her, but he couldn't figure out what. And her present demeanor was a sharp contrast to their initial encounter. Last night she had been angry and harsh, which, he admitted, was partly his fault. Today, her face showed a deep sorrow, almost like she was heartbroken. Bishop started to wonder exactly how she'd ended up Skyrim and why. 

A sound brought him out of these preoccupying thoughts, the howl of wolves in the nearby distance, and he felt irritation at letting himself lose focus. As Bishop pulled his bow off his shoulder, his own wolf, Karnwyr, perked up his ears and began to growl softly.

The black wolves were always active on this road, day and night, and tended to be aggressive. Locals whispered that necromancers lived in a hidden cave near the river and their dark magic drove surrounding predators mad. Bishop was not a fan of any form of magicka, but still thought that was ridiculous superstition. Nevertheless, the wolves were a true threat. They hunted in packs and could easily overwhelm the unprepared traveler. 

Bishop grabbed the girl's arm. "Hold up princess."

“Would you stop calling-,” But she was interrupted by the appearance of 3 black wolves not that far down the path from their position. The nearby lantern, hanging on a wooden pole, was like a spotlight. Makes for an easy kill, Bishop thought. 

With skill borne amidst years of hunting and tracking, Bishop notched an arrow and smoothly shot down the first wolf that charged at him. It went down with a yelp and didn’t get back up. Karnwyr ran snarling at the second and then suddenly a fireball spun past him and hit the third. It cried out loudly and ran off into the darkness, still on fire. 

He stopped dead in his tracks as Karnwyr trotted back towards them, happy with his kill. Magicka? She could do magic? 

This time she was smirking at him, noticing the shocked look on his face, 

“Oh, so maybe the _princess_ can fight after all." She stated with laughter in her voice. 

Maybe introductions _were_ in order, Bishop thought, his mind reeling. 

“Ok, explain yourself. I don’t usually like to keep company with mages." He said, annoyed.

“I’m not really a mage," the girl responded, leaning down to pet Karnwyr, which also surprised him. It looked like her fear of the white wolf had vanished. Karnwyr licked her hand happily. He was like a puppy when he received attention. 

“Well, then why can you do magic? You’ve obviously been trained.” 

“I’m a Breton, from High Rock.” The girl said simply, as if this answered all questions. 

“So?” Now he was getting irritated at her evasiveness. Usually that was his game and he wasn’t used to some woman being able to use that weapon against him. 

She rolled her eyes at him, “I shouldn’t be surprised that someone like you knows nothing about anyone else in the world.” 

He chose to ignore this jibe at his character. Frankly, he really didn’t care much about what she thought of him. 

“I have elven blood. From many centuries ago, but it still allows me something of a skill with magicka and magical resistance. I didn’t train to be a mage, but I did learn how to control and use my gift. In truth, I usually don't use it as I have seen the reactions of many, like you, who fear it."

Bishop scowled at her. He didn't want to give any indication she was right.

"My skills are more of those based on the nightblades.” The girl went on, standing back up to face him. 

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Bishop could only give her an incredulous look. He never would have suspected that. “Wait, you’re trained to be an assassin?” 

“Yes, isn't it obvious?" The girl said with a sarcastic grin, "I'm here in Skyrim, as a contract killer."

Bishop said nothing. He knew his exasperation with her answer was obvious.

The girl sighed, adjusting her pack a little as she stood there. Her dark hair had a reddish-orange tinge from the nearby lantern.

"Look, I don't see what the big deal is. My father just allowed me to choose what combat training I wished to have growing up and I chose archery and nightblade style training. Like I said, I really only learned to control and understand my magic. I'm no trained mage or assassin.” 

“And why would a woman like you, obviously from a noble family, need combat training? And wait, archery? That's an odd assortment of skills.” This conversation was not going in a direction he had anticipated at all. 

“That's none of your business. And does it really matter?” She asked, starting to sound angry again. “After all, according to you, we don’t even need to know each other’s names. So, why should I tell you anything personal about my life?” She brushed past him, side-stepping the two wolf corpses, leading the way down the road.

“Fair enough," he said, rather impressed now, following and catching up to walk beside her. The thought that he might actually respect this woman was unsettling. “My name is Bishop.” 

“Anwen.” The girl glanced at him and gave him a small smile. He almost smiled back but stopped himself. This whole trip wasn’t turning out to be as simple as planned. 

After this unexpected revelation, their travel on the road to Whiterun was once again, quiet, interrupted only by the appearance of a few more wolves. As before, Anwen was skillful at helping take them down with both magic and her bow, which he saw was made of ebony. 

Of course it was, he thought sarcastically. Only the best for a noble girl. Yet, she carried her air of nobility with none of the usual annoying superiority he had experienced with the nobles he had come across in Skyrim. Of course, he was often hired by them to do their dirty work, or guide them on hunting trips and they saw him as nothing better than a sellsword or mercenary, and showed him little respect. However, they paid well, which was what mattered. 

It was not yet dawn when they reached the crossroads and could see Whiterun in the distance, off to their left. The reddish orange glow to the East hinted at the coming sunrise, but it was still dark when looking in the direction of the city. An almost icy, early morning dew covered the surrounding grasses, shrubs, and flowers. It glistened in the flickering lamplight of the crossroads. Anwen and Bishop's breath was opaque in the chilliness of the air and he noticed Anwen shivering slightly. Guards in uniform were patrolling this part of the area. A few nodded "morning" to them as they passed. Guiding Anwen to take the left path, Bishop led her past a few local farms and the Honningbrew Meadery. 

“Thanks for telling me how short of a trip this was going to be, “ Anwen said abruptly, sounding incensed. 

He laughed, “No problem your ladyship. But, let’s be realistic, while you can obviously handle yourself in combat, you had no idea where you were going. You needed me.” 

She merely glared at him, but didn’t argue. 

That’s what I thought, he said to himself silently, satisfied. 

As they got closer to the path that lead to the front gates of the city, a group of guards lead by an elven woman in heavy armor, ran past them. They all had their weapons at the ready and were headed west, past the outskirts of the city. 

That’s odd, Bishop thought. Even the occasional thief that he’d seen chased around here never garnered that much attention. He opened his mouth to comment, but was interrupted by a distant roar. A roar from no animal he had ever encountered. It almost sounded like it was speaking. Wait, he thought, that’s ridiculous, animals don’t speak. But before Bishop could truly comprehend what was going on, a bright light lit up the deep, navy blue of the presunrise sky. It came from the same direction as the roar. The dark shape circling in the distance was displayed to them with disturbing clarity. He actually let out a gasp of shock. No, that was impossible, it couldn’t be.

It was a dragon. 

Anwen and him had both stopped in their tracks. Karnwyr was growling again, the hair on the back of his neck was raised, his fear apparent. 

Then, in a unforeseen move, Anwen tore her bow from her back and pulled an arrow from her quiver, notching it. “We have to help!” She shouted and started to run off after the group of Whiterun guards. 

“What?! No! Wait!” He yelled after her, but it was no use. She disappeared down the road towards the direction of the orange light. Karnwyr looked at him expectantly, as if asking what they were waiting for. “Go!” He ordered him and grabbed his own bow. His white wolf bounded off after Anwen and Bishop followed suit, irate at being pulled into this affair. He was also afraid, he realized, a foreign feeling to him. Could it really be a dragon? 

After about a minute of running, a stone watchtower, in complete ruin, came into full view. Most of it had been reduced to rubble and fires were broken out everywhere. He heard the screams of men in pain and the shouts of those fighting. Arrows were flying into the air from every direction. He spotted Anwen in the middle of fray, Karnwyr at her heels, poised in attack mode, his mouth open in a growl that Bishop couldn’t hear over the cataclysmic noise and destruction. 

It was a scene of total chaos.

Before he could move towards them, he saw a great, deep blue dragon fly overhead and stop, flapping it’s enormous wings, poised directly over Anwen and Karnwyr. He felt his heart stop and leap into his throat. 

The dragon opened its mouth and Bishop expected to see a ball of fire escape, but instead a deep, rasping voice came out, “BAHLAAN HOKORON. YOUR DEFEAT BRINGS ME HONOR.” It was then, in horror, he saw fire shoot out directly at Anwen and Karnwyr. 

“NO!” He yelled. Sprinting towards them, he knew he’d never make it in time and how could he defend them from dragon fire? Bishop felt absolutely helpless for one of the few times in his life. 

As he ran, he saw Anwen put up her left hand and cast a magical ward that shown with a great white light. It covered her and Karnswyr and deflected the massive fire storm that cascaded down on them. Seeing this, the dragon stopped his attack and again spoke out in its deep voice, 

“KRIF KRIN. PRUZAH. FIGHT COURAGEOUSLY. GOOD.” Then the dragon took off back into the sky, circling the destroyed tower, all the men still shooting arrows up at it. 

Bishop finally reached Anwen as she put her hand down, the magic disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her back towards an enormous pile of stone that had fallen from the tower. “RUN!” He shouted over another roar and spout of fire from the dragon nearby. He practically dragged her into cover. Karnwyr followed them. 

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!?!” He shouted at her. Her eyes went wide, her face covered in soot and splashes of blood. “YOU CAN’T FACE THAT THING HEAD ON!! YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED!” 

“BUT IT WAS ABOUT TO GRAB THAT GUARD!! I HAD TO STOP IT!!” She yelled back. 

“FINE, BUT NOW YOU STAY BEHIND COVER!!” He shot back, angry at her foolish, heroic move. 

*BOOM*

The ground shook as the dragon landed for the first time. Bishop peeked cautiously over the rubble they were hidden behind and saw that the towering dragon wasn’t far away. A large amount of arrows were sticking out of the dragon's scaly hide and it appeared to finally be wounded. More men, brave or foolish, he wasn’t sure what to think, had run to the dragon's side, trying to avoid it’s mouth and tail, stabbing it with swords. It roared with rage and tried to swat them away, succeeding a few times. He heard the screams of the men as they were flung far into the air, landing somewhere he couldn’t see. He cringed. What a horrible way to die. 

He looked over to ask Anwen if she was seeing this, but she had disappeared. 

“Talos preserve me! What is wrong with this girl?” He shouted to no one in particular. 

He tentatively stepped out from behind cover, bow drawn, eyes darting around trying to find her while keeping an eye on the dragon. Karnwyr was right behind him. A roar and more fire shot from the injured dragon’s mouth towards him and he ducked and rolled to his left, behind another rock. He felt a fierce heat against his cheek, as the fire barely missed him and passed overhead to his right. Keeping a bent position, Bishop carefully snuck around the left side of the rock. He then saw Anwen running towards the dragon from the right, yelling, with a look on her face that was so intense he stopped his sneaking movements to stare at her. Bishop watched her taking a flying leap, her lithe frame twisting gracefully in the air, onto the back of the dragon’s neck. She barely manage to hang on as the dragon roared and tried to whip it’s head around to snap at her. But she was too far up and it couldn’t reach. 

Bishop stood up, in awe, as Anwen lifted a massive silver sword and with a war cry, stabbed it into the top of the dragon’s head. It plunged deep and the dragon reacted with a violent convulsion and a roar of pain. 

“DOVAHKIIN?” Bishop heard the dragon shout weakly, “NOOOO!” And then it collapsed.

The dragon was _dead_.

Anwen had clung to the silver sword to avoid being thrown and she slowly slid off the dragon's neck, looking exhausted and stunned. By the look on her face, it was clear she had surprised herself with her own actions. 

The sudden silence on the battlefield seemed surreal and Bishop still hadn’t moved when it happened.

The dragon suddenly began smoldering, like the embers of a dying fire. In a split second, Bishop's reflexes kicked in, moving him forward to pull Anwen away; but then, a great wind, crackling with an incredible power, came from the smoldering dragon and enveloped her. For a moment, she was absolutely still, absorbing this power, and then fell to the ground onto her knees, overcome. 

Bishop’s mouth dropped open. 

Shouts went up all around him from the fighters left standing. 

It couldn’t be true. It was only a legend. A tale told around the taverns, during late nights, with mugs full of mead. But he couldn’t deny what he had just seen. 

Anwen was Dragonborn.


	5. The Jarl of Whiterun

For a moment, silence permeated the battlefield.

The sun had finally risen to bathe the leftover fighters in the cheery aura of first light. The pale periwinkle blue of the early morning sky, ablaze with bright sunlight, held a sharp contrast to the gruesome scene it gazed down upon. Displaying the aftermath of the dragon's attack with unforgiving brutality, the area around the watchtower was lit up to show bodies and weapons scattered everywhere. Men whimpering and crying in pain. Small fires still burning. It was a disturbing situation to be a part of. 

Yet, none of this registered with Anwen. Her legs felt cemented to the ground, her arms and shoulders heavy, like they were made of stone.  


Distorted visions of what just happened flashed across her mind. It was a mash of light and sound in her brain, knees still digging into the soft earth, body tingly. At the same time, noise erupted around her. It hit her as if she'd been underwater and only just come up for air. She looked at the dead dragon corpse, the massive silver sword sticking out of it's head, and the mouth still half opened in an unfinished roar. Had she just killed a dragon? Truly?  


Finally feeling steady enough to stand up, she turned around to face a large group of guards from Whiterun. While some had hurried off to tend to the wounded, others approached her curiously. Most were covered in blood and dirt, but excitement surrounded them. An elven woman was rushing towards her. She could see Bishop standing back, his white wolf next to him. 

She couldn’t tell if it was confusion or awe on his face. Maybe both.  


“I can’t believe it!” A guard with a massive black beard and mustache exclaimed. He could barely contain his elation. 

“You’re….Dragonborn!”  


“I’m….what?” Anwen asked, the ground swaying slightly underneath her feet. She attempted to retake control of her body, but stumbled a bit. Her long hair, now fallen out of a once neat braid, covered her eyes, throwing her sense of balance off even more. The elven woman who had just joined them, grabbed Anwen's arm to steady her and then turned to face the company of men.  


“What are you talking about? Dragonborn?” The elven woman demanded of the guard who had just spoken. It wasn’t him that answered though. Another guard came forward, his sword and shield still held loosely in his hands.  


“Haven’t you heard the tales Irileth? Surely, those you’ve been around have mentioned them.”  


The guard with the massive mustache and beard spoke back up, “The Dragonborn, in the old tales, can slay a dragon and consume it’s soul, absorbing all it's knowledge and power. They can speak like dragons, shout.” His face flushed with exhilaration, he looked at Anwen. “Can you shout? Try it! Then we will know if you’re truly Dragonborn.”  


“I don’t care who or what she is.” Irileth retorted, sounding exasperated. “She killed a dragon, that’s good enough for me.  


“You wouldn’t understand Housecarl,” Said a third guard, wearing a helmet that partially concealed his face. “You aren’t a Nord.”  


Irileth’s face darkened. “What does that matter? I’ve been all over Tamriel.”  


The guard with the massive mustache turned back to Anwen. “Try and shout.” He repeated.  


“But,” Anwen managed to finally say, “I don’t know how.”  


“If you’re Dragonborn, you do.”  


Everyone stood still, silent. Expectant. All eyes fixed on her.  


Realizing they weren't leaving her with a choice to refuse this request, Anwen tried to focus on the tingling feeling enveloping her body. It came from the power in the crackling wind that escaped from the dragon and then consumed her. It was unlike any magicka she had ever used, unlike any power she had pulled to use create fire and ice in her hands.  


Uncertainly, Anwen closed her eyes and put all her focus on the strange power. Then she opened her mouth and attempted to push it out, not really understanding how she knew how to do it.  


“FUS!”  


The brunt force of energy that pushed out the strange word knocked down everyone near her, and she nearly lost her own balance again.  


“By the Gods!” Irileth exclaimed, pulling herself back onto her feet. “What was that?”  


“She shouted! She can speak like dragons! She’s truly Dragonborn!” A guard yelled from the back of the group, most of whom were still attempting to pull themselves back onto their feet.  


The elven woman they were calling Irileth looked like she didn't know what to say. Anwen was shocked at what had just come out of her mouth, her body, her very soul. How had she known how to do that? Or have knowledge of that strange word? She really had consumed something from that dragon. She rubbed her hands across her face, as if doing so would reassure her she wasn't dreaming. Or dead and lost in some plane of Oblivion.  


“You’re coming with me.” Irileth said suddenly to Anwen, taking her arm. “The Jarl is going to want to speak with you.”  


“What?” Anwen pulled away, taking a step back. “Why? No.”  


“You can come of your own accord or we can force you to. Your choice.”  


“Housecarl,” The guard with the massive mustache said, sounding rather hesitant. “She’s Dragonborn, you should show some respect.”  


“It matters little to me whether she is or isn’t, but the Jarl is going to want to know what happened with the dragon and be made aware of this woman who can command such power.”  


At that moment Bishop appeared next to Anwen. She had actually forgotten he was still there.  


“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you.” He growled at Irileth, his hand on his dagger, taking a protective stance in front of Anwen.  


Even in all the excitement this show of concern surprised her. 

Irileth turned to him, “And who are you?” She demanded.  


“Just someone who isn’t going to let you drag this girl anywhere you please.” He retorted.  


Irileth unsheathed her sword. “Stay out of this stranger, it doesn’t concern you.” Though quite calm looking, her voice was extremely threatening. Karnwyr growled at her and another guard pulled his sword out, aiming it towards the white wolf.  


Anwen saw the situation unraveling fast and turned to Bishop.  


“It’s okay Bishop. I’ll go. The whole point of this trip was to speak to the Jarl anyway and I doubt they are going to arrest me for killing a dragon and saving the city.” Her strength was returning. “I guess you don’t need to accompany me any further.”  


For a moment Bishop looked unsure of how to respond, but then returned to his previous arrogant and indifferent demeanor.  


“Whatever you say princess. I’ll be at The Bannered Mare in the city. You still owe me coin and I expect to be paid.” Bishop glowered at her and walked off. 

Karnwyr whined and looked at Anwen. Bishop stopped, turning back, and whistled for him, calling his name, but the wolf didn’t move.  


Anwen stooped down and petted Karnwyr on the head. “I’ll be okay.” She said gently, stroking the side of his face. “Go with Bishop.” Karnwyr licked her hand in response. When she stood up, the wolf bounded over to where Bishop was waiting and when Anwen looked at him, Bishop looked both slightly angry and taken aback at this exchange.  


Sighing, she turned back to Irileth, “Might I gather my things before we go?”  


Irileth nodded curtly and Anwen walked to where she had dropped her pack and weapons, behind a large rock.  


Her arms slightly ached from the force she had used to stab the dragon. Yet, the strength had poured out of her in a way that was almost exhilarating. Something had awakened inside her. Anwen could feel it.  


Irileth gestured to the group of guards. “Stay and begin cleaning up this mess. I’ll send some more people to help with the injured and the dead.” Most nodded and began dispersing. “Except you, Gunnvor. Come with us. I want you to be a witness to this girl’s deeds.”  


She was speaking to the man with the massive mustache and full beard. He actually seemed pleased by this request.  


Anwen had no choice but to be led back down the road towards Whiterun. She turned around briefly to see if Bishop had left, but he hadn’t. Still in the same spot as before, he watched her as she walked away and Anwen could swear she saw an emotion she thought he wasn’t capable of feeling. Helplessness. Etched across his face.  


\---------------------------------------------------------------

  


As expected, being the capital city of the Hold, Whiterun was much larger than Riverwood. 

The three of them approached the massive walls that surrounded the city via a stone road that Anwen had not initially noticed when Bishop and her first arrived. 

Well, the appearance of a dragon is a bit distracting, she thought to herself with a sardonic smile. As they walked, rather hurriedly due to Irileth's determined pace, the trio passed a horse stable, where a man and a woman stood talking. A snatch of their conversation reached her ears.

"And he was wearing a jester's costume! Standing next to a broken wagon, with a coffin in the back, going on and on about his mother!" 

It was a very odd statement to hear out of context and Anwen stifled a giggle. Skyrim was turning out to be a rather strange place. Can't say it's boring though, she thought. The whole situation really wasn't funny, but her emotions didn't know how else to express themselves at the moment. 

Crossing over the last draw bridge, they finally reached the front gates. The guards immediately reacted to Irileth's presence and opened the massive wooden doors. All three of them trudged in, rather wearily. Anwen was beginning to feel a bit of exhaustion creeping over her. The adrenaline that filled her body earlier was waning.  


Curious stares and looks met them as they traveled through the main road of the city. They were near a blacksmith where a young woman looked up from the metal she was working to watch them pass. A building with a sign calling it “The Drunken Huntsmen” had a couple of men standing outside, chatting. They were both wearing fancy clothing that appeared to designate them as people with high social standing. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they saw the trio approaching.  


“Was there really a dragon?” Asked the older man with graying hair, a large gold necklace around his neck and a fancy ebony sword on his side.  


“It’s dead.” Was all Irileth said, not stopping.  


There were gasps all around them as many others heard that brief exchange. But, Irileth kept walking and seemed uninterested in answering any questions. “The Jarl will inform you all of any information you need to know.” It was the last word anyone could get out of her.  


It was a long walk to reach the Jarl’s home. The keep where he lived was impressive, elevated above the rest of the city, and built to overlook Whiterun. There was a grand statue situated near the bottom of the steps that led up to the keep. Anwen recognized it from her religious studies. Part of the Imperial Pantheon of the Nine Divines. Talos, the Hero-god of Mankind. It was hard to miss, not only for it's size, but for the priest shouting in front of it. Anwen guessed by the way everyone ignored him, that this was rather commonplace. Interesting, she thought, watching him gesture wildly. 

The trio made their way up long stone steps that ended in a wooden bridge, constructed over a small man-made body of water. Anwen glanced over the railing into the clear blue water and saw various fish swimming about. There was a large group of guards milling about near the door and they all converged on Anwen, Irileth and the guard called Gunnvor. Irileth waved them off.  


“I have to speak to the Jarl immediately! Move! You will be told what you need to know later.” Her commanding tone did not go unheeded and the guards moved aside, talking in hushed tones to each other. One swung open one of the huge wooden doors that led into the castle-like structure. 

When the three of them entered, they were standing in an imposing entryway, with a very high ceiling, criss-crossed wooden beams, and tall columns. Various servants were bustling about. As they walked further in, across a wood floor draped with rugs, the hall opened up into a large chamber, housing a central fire pit, large dining tables, and visible balconies on the upper floor. At the far end was a raised dais. The wall behind it held the skull of a dragon, which Anwen noticed with a small start. A chair that looked like a carved throne was positioned below it. On the small throne sat a man, wearing a jeweled golden circlet, obviously a Nord from the fair color of his hair and skin. His face was slightly lined and he was speaking to a balding man standing next to him, sounding extremely agitated. The balding man was wearing fancy quilted clothing, an air of importance about him. He looked to be arguing with the Jarl.  


As they approached, the conversation ceased abruptly and the Jarl stood up from his chair.  


“Irileth! Thank Talos you are well! What happened? We've had no word since you left." He stared at Anwen suspiciously. "And who is this girl you bring before me?”  


"My Lord, the dragon is dead. And this girl, well, she was the one to slay it."  


At that, the Jarl's eyes widened and the entire hall went quiet.  


Anwen stood, slightly off to the side, as Irileth went over the events at the tower. When she reached the part where Anwen had killed the dragon and absorbed power from it, the silence in the room was so thick it was as if everyone had stopped breathing.  


As before, on the battlefield, all eyes were on her. Anwen was starting to tire a little of the unwanted attention and stood in a stiff position, still clutching her pack and weapons tightly against her body. Self-consciously, she brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes and tried not to focus on anyone in particular, choosing instead to look at the dragon skull.  


The Jarl said nothing. Appearing momentarily speechless, he walked back to his chair, his posture suggesting he was deep in thought.  


That’s when it happened.  


There was deafening clap of thunder. The building shook slightly. A flash of blue light momentarily shot through the windows and a rumble of voices echoed from outside.  


“DO-VAH-KIIN!”  


There were multiple sharp intakes of breath and many people in the room, including Anwen, jumped at the unexpected noise and light. 

“It can't be.” The Jarl breathed.  


After that, it was a blur of shouting, some arguing, and a great deal of excited talking. When the Jarl finally calmed the room down, he began to question Anwen. Who she was, where she was from, and how she had ended up in the battle, slaying the dragon. Anwen did her best to answer truthfully while leaving out quite a bit of personal detail. However, he seemed satisfied with her answers. Gunnvor and Irileth supported Anwen’s tale of what happened when she killed the dragon and with that, the interrogation ended.  


All was quiet as everyone waited for the Jarl to address them again. It was clear he commanded respect from those that served him.

Anwen was still standing in a stiff manner, daggers at her side, bow on her back. Though lightweight, her weapons were beginning to feel heavy. Halfway through the Jarl's questions, Anwen had allowed her pack to slide down her arm. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move, but her body was screaming for rest, the dryness of her throat making it hard to swallow. And still, no one had bothered to explain where those voices had come from or why they had elicited such a reaction from everyone. It was bizarre, no doubt, but that seemed to be the ongoing theme surrounding this day.  


"So the stories we are hearing about a great, black dragon attacking Helgen may be true after all." The Jarl mused, stroking his chin. "But, I wonder," He looked at Irileth, "Is any of this at all related to the failed execution of Ulfric Stormcloak?" 

"After what I just saw, I'm not sure what to think about anything anymore, my Lord. Still, how could dragons be related to the Civil War?" 

Anwen had no idea what they were talking about, but her curiosity was peaked. 

"My Jarl," the balding man in the expensive quilted garments spoke up. His voice faltered slightly. "All thoughts of Helgen aside, are we sure we can trust this young woman? And this talk of her being Dragonborn? It sounds like Nord nonsense."  


Another man standing near the Jarl took a massive two-handed steel greatsword off his back and walked towards the balding man, who stepped back hastily.  


"Nord nonsense?! Why you impertinent little-"  


"That's enough Hrongar!" The Jarl had stood up, walking in between the two men. "And you, Proventus, whether or not you believe in these legends, you cannot deny the call of the Greybeards that we just witnessed. And I will have no more discussion on the matter. Dragons have suddenly reappeared and this girl was able to kill one. This cannot be called into question with so many witnesses to back up this claim. What happens now is her destiny to discover and not ours to dictate or determine for her." 

Proventus nodded and bowed. "Yes, my Lord."  


The atmosphere changed after that exchange. Most nearby individuals looked to return to their duties, leaving only the Jarl and Irileth continuing to speak with Anwen. 

And Anwen was desperate to find out what was going on. The call of the Greybeards? She had just about gathered her courage to ask, when the Jarl looked at her and started to speak again, answering her unspoken questions.

"Being a native of High Rock, I am not sure of the extent of your knowledge about Skyrim or if you have studied the legends of the Dragonborn and the relation of those who can speak in dragon tongue to the Greybeards, who practice the 'Way of the Voice'."

Before Anwen could reply, the Jarl went on, "The Greybeards are an ancient and honorable order, and reside on top of the highest mountain peak in Tamriel known as the Throat of the World. The live in a sanctuary called High Hrothgar, reachable only by the Seven Thousand Steps. They are masters of the Thu'um, or the Voice, a peaceful order using their Thu'um to worship and honor the gods. Simply put, they can speak in dragon tongue, only they must spend many, many years studying it before they can use power similar to that of a Dragonborn. Even then, their skills are not the same as the Dragonborn. A mortal who has been blessed by Akatosh with the soul and blood of a dragon. A gift that bestows you with a special type of magic, allowing you to consume a slain dragon's soul and absorb all its knowledge, and speak, with little effort, the dragon language, wielding the immense power of a shout. If the Greybeards have called for you, I would not ignore them. They will have reason as they live in silence and rarely involve themselves in matters outside of their home on top of that mountain. It is said that the last time they spoke was when they announced the greatness of Tiber Septim."

Anwen didn't know what to say when the Jarl finished his explanation. While these were all fascinating pieces of knowledge and history, the Jarl was referring to her when he spoke of a Dragonborn. It was a bit too much to fathom so quickly and her mind was struggling to grasp the true nature of what this all meant. It had already been reeling from the events of the past few weeks. And now she was being told she had the soul of a dragon. This explained though, a moment that seemed so long ago, when Cael told her she had the "heart and soul of a dragon". Somehow, he had seen it. Before anyone else. 

I've gone mad, she thought. What other explanation is there? I'm dead, lost in a nightmare, created by some Daedric Prince for their own amusement. That doesn't really make any sense either though, she said to herself, with a slight shake of her head.

Realizing she had been staring at the ground for a few minutes, she looked up to see the Jarl and Irileth watching her with great curiosity. 

She found her voice, "Ok, so I need to travel to High Hrothgar. Speak to the Greybeards." She took a deep breath, "And how do I do that?" 

The Jarl came across as a tough, stoic individual, but not without kindness and after explaining she needed to travel to a town at the base of the mountain called Ivarstead, he offered Anwen something to eat and drink. She accepted. At that point, it was early afternoon and without any rest the night before and nothing to eat since leaving Riverwood, she was famished and fell gratefully into a chair at the massive table. Many joined her for what seemed like a late midday meal.  


She was quiet and felt out of place. Some at the table whispered, some looked at her with a glimmer of admiration, while others chatted amiably amongst themselves, and heartily consumed their meals.

When the table was clear, Anwen stayed in her seat while everyone else got up and dispersed. The Jarl went back to his throne-like chair and began a conversation with the man he called Proventus. Irileth and Hrongar stood by talking quietly. No one looked to be paying any attention to her anymore, so Anwen made to leave. Despite her initial desire to see the Jarl to seek help for shelter and paying work, the dragon attack had changed things. She'd had enough adventure and unwanted attention for the day and hoped to slip out, unnoticed.  


However, before she could walk more then a few steps, the Jarl called out to her. "Before you leave, I would like to speak with you once more. There is a matter I require some assistance with and I believe a person with your skills is well equipped to handle it."  


Anwen's back was turned to him and she made an irritable face to herself. All she wanted was to go find a bed and sleep. But, she thought to herself, perhaps there was some money to be earned, something she would be needing more of soon.  


And with that reasoning to give her some much needed strength, she turned around and made her way back to the Jarl, hoping beyond hope that whatever the task was, it was nothing she would need to ask Bishop to help her with.


	6. How to Drink with a Dragonborn

The Bannered Mare was loud and a bit rowdy, but Bishop preferred it that way. He sat in the corner, slightly hidden in shadow, drinking his mead and watching the people around him. It was always entertaining and how he usually spent his nights. His patience for interacting with most people, in general, was thin and so he kept his distance, observing, instead of becoming actively involved.  


At least, until he met Anwen.

Watching that elven woman and guard lead Anwen away had left him with a strange feeling in his stomach, which made little sense because it wasn't as if she needed his help or was in any type of danger. After watching her kill a dragon, it was obvious she could handle herself. 

So, after the three had disappeared from sight, he'd taken a bit of a walk to shake the feeling the best he could and then traveled to Whiterun himself, heading straight for The Bannered Mare. He left Karnwyr to rest outside on a grassy and slightly shaded patch of earth near the inn, making sure to tell the nearby guards that Karnwyr was a tame wolf and to not allow anyone to attempt to harm him. A few septims each to a handful of guards later and he was satisfied they'd watch out for his white wolf. 

Knowing Karnwyr was safe, Bishop walked inside the inn, rented a room and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed. Falling into a troubled sleep, he awoke late in the day, still tired, but feeling a bit calmer. The morning had really unnerved him. He wasn’t used to being in a situation where he experienced such a complete loss of control. In fact, he usually never allowed himself to be in any type of position he didn't have absolute command over. And that, he believed, kept him out of situations just like this.  


Not this time. His little plan to earn easy coin from a naive noble girl had totally backfired.

Now, it was late evening and Anwen still hadn’t shown. Bishop was on his sixth mug of Honningbrew Mead. After a few shots of whiskey, in addition to the mead, the drink was finally helping him relax after such a disconcerting day. 

He felt completely thrown out of his element. The whole situation was utter madness. It couldn’t be real, could it? Not only had dragons returned, but some random Breton girl from High Rock was Dragonborn? This tiny little thing of a woman had been able to slay a damn dragon. And somehow, he had been the lucky one to witness the whole thing. No, he corrected himself. I was a part of it. At this unsettling thought, he ran a hand through his hair and took another long drink from his mug.  


“Mind if I sit with you?” A female voice, laced with sensuality, interrupted his thoughts.  


“Yes, actually I do.” Bishop replied, not even bothering to look in the direction of the voice. “I’m waiting for someone.”  


The woman paid no heed to his words and sat down in the empty chair across from him. Bishop continued to ignore her. Maybe she’ll go away, he thought, taking another swig from his almost empty mug. Signaling the barmaid for a refill, he turned back to watching the rest of the tavern in their merriment. You’d never know a dragon just attacked, Bishop said to himself.  


The redheaded barmaid came over, leaning in as she poured more drink into his mug, practically putting her breasts in his face. Giving him a rather seductive smile, she walked away.  


Bishop sighed, exasperated. The women, both barmaids and patrons alike, were the most annoying part of spending most of his nights in a tavern. Very rarely did he find one to his liking. Most were apt to throw themselves at any man who walked in the door, carrying coin. Well, at least I don’t have to pay for it, he thought.  


“Something wrong love?” The woman was talking to him again.  


“Yes, you. Sitting there. Leave.” Bishop growled at her, throwing her half a glance before turning back to his drink. She was a pretty one, but still, no. Besides, he was waiting for Anwen. He wanted his money.  


Once again the woman ignored what he said and instead reached out to touch his arm. “C’mon handsome, I can make you forget about all your problems tonight.”  


“I said, no.” Bishop pulled his arm out of reach.  


“But a good-looking man like yourself shouldn’t be alone on such a cold night.” Her words were spoken in a soft, provocative manner obviously meant to entice. It had no affect on him. “My body can be yours to do with as you please.”  


Bishop heard the door to the inn open, but it barely registered in his mind. His anger boiled over. Slamming his mug onto the wooden tabletop, he turned to face the bothersome woman, giving her a disdainful look. “I already said no, you stupid wench! Is that so hard for you to comprehend? Or are you just that much of an idiot?”  


Her response was silence.  


Finally, came his first thought. He picked his mug of mead back up, cursing the fact that his actions had caused half of it to spill all over the table. 

As he turned back around though, he found himself face to face with Anwen. Her shock at joining the end of this unpleasant conversation was evident by her wide-eyed look and slightly open mouth.  


Oddly, Bishop felt embarrassed at her witnessing the scene. Another unfamiliar feeling. He stood up, a bit too hastily and his vision swam ever so slightly. The alcohol had affected him more than he realized. Taking control of the situation was what he needed.  


“Come.” He muttered. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” Grabbing his things, he walked towards the other side of the room. Anwen followed him wordlessly.  


“Like she’s so special.” The woman snapped at him as he left the table. The seductive quality of her voice had completely vanished. 

Ignoring her, he went and sat down at the one empty table left on the other side of the room, set against the far back wall. Anwen took off her pack and weapons and put them down in the corner next to a chair opposite his. She sat down and immediately a barmaid, with the dark skin of the Redguards, appeared.  


“Drink m’lady?” She asked, with forced friendliness.  


“Wine please, the best you have. White.”  


Bishop rolled his eyes. Typical female drink and requested just like a noble. Yet, when he glanced over at Anwen, he saw the sheer exhaustion written across her face, accentuated by puffy, bloodshot eyes. And he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.  


Clink. A small bag full of coin was set in front of him.  


“Payment, as promised.” Anwen waved her hand absentmindedly, staring off into the crowd of patrons. She sounded as tired as she looked.  


Bishop picked it up and placed it, hidden, in a front pocket. The Redguard woman reappeared with a large, jade colored bottle of wine and a silver goblet. She filled the goblet and began to walk away.  


“Leave the bottle.” Bishop said, flipping some septims her way. Barely catching them, the woman sighed, put the bottle down on the table, and left.  


Anwen gave him an odd look. “For you? Or me?”  


At this Bishop laughed, for the first time that night. “Hah. Woman, I don’t drink that swill.”  


“Wait, are you actually buying me a drink?”  


Bishop heard the smirk in her voice. He shrugged indifferently.  


“Just shut up and enjoy it princess. You earned it.”  


Anwen didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Instead, taking the silver goblet set in front of her, she downed it in one long and dramatic mouthful. Then she grabbed the bottle and refilled her cup, once again downing it with another long drink. The third time, however, she filled it and took a smaller drink before placing it back on the table and letting out a deep breath.  


“Long day eh?” Bishop asked casually, somewhat impressed at that rather lively display. It may have only been wine, but her goblet was not small and neither was the bottle of wine. The mead and whiskey he'd imbibed so far that night had mellowed him out and he was feeling more amiable than usual.  


“You know, your stupid jokes aren’t funny. At all.” Anwen said, with irritation in her voice. She took another long drink from her cup, leaning back in her chair.  


Bishop stretched his legs out in front him, grinning. He really enjoyed teasing her for some reason. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they make me quite charming.”  


Anwen snorted, giving him a scornful glance and then turned to scan the tavern crowd, her eyes settling on the bard playing his lute. “Charming." She stated, almost as if contemplating the idea. Taking another drink, she turned to look back at him, "You actually think you’re charming?”  


“I think a lot of things about myself.” He responded, sighing with mock confidence.  


“Your lack of clever comebacks is rather embarrassing.”  


“I think your discernment of what’s clever is rather embarrassing.”  


“Oh, by the Eight! Could this conversation be any more ridiculous?!”  


At this, Bishop couldn’t help but laugh again. "I'm sure it could. Shall we attempt it?"  


Anwen took another sip of wine and then abruptly slammed her cup onto the table. “Why? Why do you do that?”  


“Do what?” Bishop glanced at her, casually taking a drink of what was left of his mead, smiling. Her face was slightly flushed, eyes narrowed.  


“Deliberately try to annoy me?”  


“Do you think I care enough to even bother trying to annoy you?” He looked away, gazing into the crowd again, a smirk on his face. This was fun.  


“Well, if you don’t, then you have a natural knack for it and what do you think that says about you?”  


“Actually, maybe you should be more concerned about what that says about you.”  


Anwen gave him a contemptuous look. Bishop was extremely entertained at the range of anger-related emotions he could bring out in her. 

She sipped her wine again before responding, “It says that the caliber of the company I require is far beyond any expectation you could ever hope to meet.”  


"Oh, well, now you've just hurt my feelings," He chuckled. 

She said nothing to that, simply glaring at him again while she took another drink. 

“Look, I get it..” He started to say, with an effort at being more serious.  


“No, I don’t think you do.” She shot back, heatedly. “So just be quiet. I’m not in the mood for your snarky shit.”  


“Whoa, ladyship, calm down.” Bishop grinned, turning in his chair so that he was facing her directly. “Something happen with the Jarl that the almighty Dragonborn wishes to share?”  


“Screw you Bishop!” Anwen snapped.  


At that, he started to feel angry. “Fine, have it your way princess. I’ll just leave you alone. Best of luck fighting dragons oh great _Dovahkiin_.” Putting a sarcastic emphasis on the title, he started to get up. Women. I’m done with this, he thought. With the full intention of heading back to Riverwood he downed the rest of his mead and made to walk away.  


“Bishop. Wait.” She said rather weakly. “I’m sorry. I-I just don’t know what’s happening to me anymore.”  


Bishop stopped and turned back around to look at her. She was looking up at him and there was an incredible sadness in her eyes. And she looked absolutely beautiful. In all the chaos since they had first met, he hadn’t noticed just how beautiful she really was. Her eyes were big and bright. A prominent color mix of blue and green, like the sea. Almost enchanting, even when bloodshot, he unwillingly thought. Her long dark hair was shining in the soft light of the inn, trailing down her back in a long plait. She obviously took care of herself. With an internal sigh he sat back down. This action was against his normal inclination to not care about other people’s problems, but he felt the pull to stay by her side. And he couldn't understand what it was that drew him to do so. 

Bishop said nothing, feeling slightly awkward in that defining moment when he realized he actually wanted to help this girl.  


However, Anwen didn’t appear to expect anything else from him. She was quiet and downed the rest of her wine.  


For a few minutes they sat in silence. Bishop stared back out into the crowd, listening to the drunken singing of "Ragnar the Red". By the Gods, that song was annoying. 

Then Anwen started to talk again. Her voice calmer. “So, it turns out I really could be Dragonborn.” She poured herself more wine. “I don’t even fully understand it. But, that incredible power that possessed me and then the thunder earlier that called “Dovahkiin”? The Jarl said that’s the call of the Greybeards.”  


This sparked his interest and Bishop turned his eyes away from the drunken, dancing man nearby that he'd started watching in an effort to distract himself from the weird feelings he was having about Anwen. “The Greybeards? Those monks that live in seclusion on top of that mountain?” he asked.  


Anwen nodded. “High Hrothgar, near Ivarstead.”  


She hesitated for moment, staring into her goblet. “I was told that I should go and see these Greybeards, but,” with a sigh, she took another long drink before going on, “the Jarl asked me for a favor first. It’s related to dragons, but not the Greybeards. His mage, Farengar, or something, is looking for a map of Dragon Burial sites. Apparently, it’s in a place called Bleak Falls Barrow.”  


“As in that Nordic ruin outside of Riverwood?” Bishop could picture that creepy place in his mind. He hated those old ruins, full of draugr, the walking dead. He involuntarily shivered. Anwen noticed this and laughed.  


“Wait, is the fearless ranger actually afraid of this place?”  


Bishop scowled, irritated at himself for showing that weakness. “No,” he retorted, “But who likes places filled with the undead?”  


Anwen choked on the sip of wine she had just attempted to swallow. This time, Bishop laughed.  


“Ah, you didn’t know that did you?”  


She looked slightly sick. “They asked if I’d go into that place and get the map that supposedly is hidden within the ruins.”  


“Did you say yes?” He asked incredulously. She really was crazy. Well, she did just jump on a dragon and stab it in the head, he thought to himself.  


She nodded. “I wanted to help.”  


“Of course you did.” Bishop stated. He knew the exasperation in regards to her decision was evident in his tone. “Do you have a death wish? Or some kind of hero complex?”  


Anwen glared at him, “No!”  


“You know, you are a very strange woman.” He responded, leaning back in his chair again and putting his hands behind his head. 

“Well, you’re an arrogant ass. Aren’t we quite the pair.” She snapped.  


Bishop smirked, he was used to being called all kinds of derisive names by women. Somehow though, it was funnier when Anwen did it.  


“Do you ever take anything seriously?” She asked, refilling her mug again with wine. She was drinking fast and it was beginning to show.  


“Eh, only when really necessary. Most of the time though, what’s the point?” He noticed the bottle of wine was now half empty. “You know princess, you might want to slow down a bit or I may be picking you up off the floor soon. And, to be honest, I would prefer not to.”  


Anwen gave him another dirty look, her eyes slightly glazed over from the wine. “Don’t tell me what to do ranger.”  


He shrugged, “Fine, but when you wake up miserable tomorrow, you can’t say I didn’t try to help.”  


“At least you’re somewhat sexy, makes you a bit more bearable.”  


“So, you think I’m sexy?” Bishop responded with a slightly flirtatious tone, attempting to mess with her a bit.  


She didn't take the bait however and instead downed another long swig of wine, “Do you even care what I think about you at all?”  


“Do you care if I care about what you think of me?”  


“Seriously, that’s your response?”  


“Absolutely.” 

Bishop was still leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, with his hands behind his head, staring out into the crowded room, intentionally giving off a casual vibe to try and provoke her more. It appeared to be working. 

“It's like talking to a damn child. By the Eight you are absolutely infuriating!” Now her words were starting to become slurred.  


Inwardly, Bishop was laughing at how easily he could get her riled up, drunk or not. However, outwardly, he only rolled his eyes. He decided he needed another drink and looked around, but the redheaded barmaid was nowhere in sight and neither was the Redguard woman.  


“Look, I’ll be right back." He sat back up and started to stand so he could walk to the bar. "Don’t go anywhere, or fall off your chair.” He added.  


“Very funny.” Anwen hiccuped.  


Bishop got up, and pushing his way through the crowd, headed over to the innkeeper, who was leaning casually against the counter, watching the merriment of her guests.  


“Evening. I wanted to keep the room I had earlier for another night, would that be possible?” Bishop asked.  


“I apologize, but I rented that single out a bit ago. I do have one other left, double bed.” She replied. “It’s the full suite upstairs.”  


Bishop sighed. Guess I’ll be sleeping either next to a drunk Anwen or on the floor, he thought. He wasn’t sure which was worse.  


“Ok, I’ll take that and a bottle of Honningbrew Mead.”  


“As you like.” She leaned down and pulled a golden bottle from the shelf below.  


Bishop paid her, turned around and headed back to Anwen, weaving his way through the ever growing throng of patrons gathered around the fireplace in the middle of the room. Some were dancing and singing along with the bard, others simply drinking and talking. Though loud and boisterous, The Bannered Mare was a very comfortable and cozy inn and typically full of friendly locals who weren’t inclined to cause trouble.  


Or so he thought.  


When he reached Anwen, he saw another man had taken his chair. He was well dressed and impeccably groomed, his dark hair shining in the candlelight from the sconces on the wall behind them. Clearly a noble. Which made the whole situation much more irritating.  


The nobleman was chatting animatedly, gesturing with his mug and spilling his drink everywhere.  


Anwen, now obviously drunk, was giggling and pouring herself more wine in such an erratic manner that she splashed half of it on the table and the rest on herself.  


Neither of them seemed to notice his presence.  


“Excuse me, I would appreciate it if you would get out of my seat.” Bishop said trying to be polite. He was not in the mood for a fight tonight.  


“Sorry, my friend, I am busy speaking with this gorgeous creature. Find another seat.” The man didn't take his eyes off Anwen and waved his hand as if Bishop were some annoying bug to be swatted away. 

That pissed him off.  


“This woman is with me. Now, kindly, leave.” Bishop was using all his self-control to refrain from picking the nobleman up off his chair and tossing him across the room.  


“Sweetheart, are you with this guy?” The dark-haired man asked Anwen.  


She nodded. “He’s a friend.”  


“Just a friend then? Well, how would you like to spend some time with me and leave your friend behind to enjoy his drink?” The nobleman gave her what was clearly supposed to be a charming smile. Anwen giggled. 

Bishop felt an overwhelming urge to punch him. 

"Shall we go then, my lady?" The man took Anwen's hand and kissed it. Again, she giggled. 

“She doesn’t want to go with you, _friend_.” Bishop growled, anger now evident in his voice.  


“I don’t believe that’s your decision, _friend_.” The nobleman responded in a mocking tone.  


Anwen was swaying in her seat, one hand still in the nobleman's, the other holding the bottle of wine that she was now drinking directly from. She looked back and forth as they talked. Her hair was falling out of her braid and her eyes were brighter than usual.  


Bishop gritted his teeth. “How about you get up and quietly walk away before I take this bottle and use it to wipe that slack-jawed fool look off your stupid, ugly face.” It may not have been the cleverest threat but Bishop was too enraged to care. 

The dark-haired man was beginning to look furious now himself, a red flush rising in his cheeks.  


“Whatever pal, enjoy your drink. This beautiful woman and I have somewhere else to be.” He got up and walked around to Anwen, pulling her up off her chair. She stood unsteadily, leaning against him and giggled more.  


“Where are we going?”  


“C’mon on darling, let’s go have some fun.” The man started to guide her away.  


“Bishop aren’t you coming?” Anwen asked, turning her head in his direction, her words extremely slurred. She grinned at him with unfocused eyes.  


Bishop didn’t answer. Instead, he walked around her, so that he was directly in front of the two of them, forcing the nobleman to stop his efforts to take Anwen away. Bishop was quite a bit taller than this entitled piece of noble trash, forcing him to look down to talk to the idiot. Yet, despite Bishop's obvious height advantage the nobleman didn't appear to feel physically threatened.  


Bishop leaned down, getting into the nobleman's face. He realized he had unknowingly clenched his hands into fists. 

“Let. Go. Of. Her. Now.” Still gritting his teeth, the words came out slow, every syllable emphasized.  


The nobleman narrowed his eyes up at Bishop. “She doesn’t belong to you.”  


“She doesn’t belong to _you_. She is here with _me_.”  


They looked at each other for one very long and tense moment. Then Bishop turned away and pulled Anwen roughly out of the man’s arms.  


“Ow!” She exclaimed. “You’re hurting me.”  


“Sit down and be quiet.” He said, walking her back to her seat. She fell ungracefully into the chair and tried to grab her nearly empty bottle of wine. He moved it out of her reach.  


"Hey! I'm thirsty!" She whined. Bishop ignored her. 

When he turned back around, Bishop found the nobleman had moved right up against him, flushed with rage.  


“Who, in Oblivion, do you think you are?” He snarled at Bishop. “Do you have any idea who I am?”  


“Listen, you little cocky piece of shit,” Bishop said menacingly, his voice low. “I don’t give a fuck what family bred your idiotic ass. Walk away now or this will not end well for you.”  


Bishop saw the man raise his hands. 

He immediately reacted.  


Without another word, Bishop slammed his right fist into the guy’s face. The nobleman immediately crumpled to the floor, out cold, blood trickling out of his nose. Bishop had clearly broken it.  


Despite the amount of people in the inn, the argument had not gone unnoticed and at this turn of events, the bard stopped playing and the room went quiet.  


“Shit.” Bishop muttered to himself. As everyone stared at him, he glared back. “Is there a problem?” He looked over at the innkeeper. She looked shocked, but not angry. And almost a bit amused.  


A few low whispers and mutters and then, a minute or so later, everyone went back to their previous activities and the bard started his song back up. No one bothered paying any attention to the man lying on the floor.  


Guess no one else cares too much for him either, Bishop thought. He looked down at the unconscious man, who he could see was still breathing.  


_The things I do for a beautiful woman_. 

He turned back around to see Anwen asleep in her chair. Her head was slumped on the table, the bottle of wine she had managed to reach, despite his efforts, close to falling out of her hand onto the floor. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he walked back over to grab it before it fell.  


Catching the glass bottle just in time, Bishop placed it on the table and then, with a sigh, picked Anwen up, holding her gently in his arms. Her head fell onto his chest, her breathing slow. It was oddly comforting and almost familiar, he thought, unsure of the curious and unexpected feeling that settled across him.  


_This girl is bringing out way too many strange and unwanted feelings._

He walked upstairs to the suite and put Anwen down on the bed, sliding her boots off and covering her with a fur. She'd wake up uncomfortable, having slept in her leather armour, but he wasn't about to strip her and face the wrath he knew would be incurred from such an action on his part. Quickly he went back downstairs and grabbed their belongings from under the table, including his still full bottle of mead.  


After shutting the door and stowing their weapons and packs in the corner, Bishop sat in a chair and drank, tired and overwhelmed with thoughts related to the events of the past couple of days. Looking towards the bed, he momentarily watched Anwen as she slept. She murmured something and rolled onto her side. Her long hair was coming out of her braid and pieces of it fell across her face. It seemed even powerful dragonslayers needed to fall apart sometimes.  


The Dragonborn.

Talos preserve me, he thought with another long sigh and swig from his bottle, what have I gotten myself into...


	7. Dreams and Desire

Eyes closed, Anwen fought against her body's desire to wake up.

Tucked into his chest, head nestled under his chin, the warmth of Cael's skin melded into hers. The slowness of his breathing as he slept was calming. There was such a gentleness in the way he held her and she felt protected, incredibly safe. As if his presence alone poured into her a strength she didn't know she could have.

Anwen snuggled in closer, his arms pulling her tighter into him.

"Mmmm." The moan that escaped from his lips was soft, barely audible.

For a few peaceful minutes, they held each other and Anwen sighed, content.

“I wish we could stay like this forever Cael.” She murmured. He didn’t say anything, but his grip slackened a little.

“Cael?” She opened her eyes and tilted her head to look at him.

But it wasn’t Cael’s pale blue eyes that were staring back at her. It was Bishop’s dark green ones.

They looked at each other and then all at once, Anwen let go, Bishop jumped up, and there was a great deal of yelling all at the same time.

“What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing?” She shouted angrily.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bishop shot back.

“Nothing! You had your arms around me!”

“You were….snuggling against me!” He sounded confused, even in his anger, as if the very idea was unbelievable. 

Sudden silence. They continued eyeing each other warily.

Then a cool breeze brushed Anwen's skin. She looked down.

She was topless, wearing only her underwear. And Anwen could see Bishop, too, had that realization. At the exact same time.

“Bishop! What the fu-?! WHAT DID YOU DO??” Anwen shrieked, pulling the fur blanket over her body. Her face was hot.

“You’re going to blame ME for this? I didn’t touch you!!”

Both were breathless and for a minute, silent again, as they looked at one another.

“What happened last night?” Anwen asked quietly.

“I-I don’t remember. I mean I carried you up to bed-“

“You did WHAT?” 

“You were passed out in your chair downstairs! What else should I have done? Leave you there?” He glared at her. "Pardon me for attempting to be, as you would put it, a 'gentleman'!" He said that last word in a slightly mocking tone.

"And sliding into bed with me was a part of you 'being a gentleman'?" She responded, eyes flashing with fury.

But, even as she said that, her righteous anger at Bishop growing, blurry pieces of the previous night started to play across her mind. A dark-haired nobleman. Giggling. A kiss on the hand. More wine. Hanging onto the man's arm as he walked her to the door. Raised voices. Bishop dragging her back to the table. Then, nothing.

Anwen dropped her gaze.

"Ah, ladyship, starting to remember?" There was a small smirk playing around his mouth, obvious sarcasm in his voice.

“No.” She lied.

Bishop continued to smirk. She knew he didn't believe her. “Considering you downed an entire bottle of wine in less than two hours, princess, I'm not surprised.”

The fact that he was right was infuriating.  She pulled the blanket tighter against her naked body. “Well, considering I was passed out, I know that I didn’t strip myself!”

The smirk vanished and he was angry again at her implied accusation. “I swear to the Gods, I didn’t take off your clothes!! Do you really think that's the kind of man I am?”

“I don't know what kind of man you are, Bishop!" It was a nasty thing to say. To insinuate that he'd do such a thing. But her chest was heavy, her hair disheveled, her skin covered only by a fur blanket. And it made Anwen feel vulnerable. That fueled her anger. And anger like that always made her cruel.

She glowered at him. Anwen knew she should be thankful that he had taken the time to make sure she was safe, but the fact that she had needed him to do so was a blow to her pride. When Cael had rescued her she had been in an impossible situation, something out of her control. In this case, it had been her own fault. She had chosen to lose control. And despite what she said, never once had she considered Bishop to be the type of man to force himself upon any woman.

Bishop's face was impassive now. He was still standing there in his undergarments, bare chested.

Another moment of tense silence passed.

Then he looked down at his scantily clad body. “I have no recollection of how I got this way, why you are naked, or why I was…..cuddled up with you.”

There was a startling amount of gentle concern in his voice. Anwen could only gaze at him in surprise. After her unkind accusation, she had expected a sarcastic, flippant retort. Yet, there it was again, when he spoke about them cuddling. The conflicting tone and hint of confusion. It was as if he didn't dare consider they had done something as serious as "cuddling", an awful act beyond comprehension.

In fact, Anwen thought, slightly amused, watching Bishop's eyes flicker nervously about the room and then back to her, he seems more concerned about us cuddling then the possibility that we had sex. How...odd.

She stared at him a moment longer, slowly sitting back down on the bed, unsure of what to think about that, about the situation, about..everything. Right now her emotions were an unending series of twists and turns from one extreme to the next. And it was exhausting. Her anger was fading away as quickly as it had appeared.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and rubbed them with her right hand, her left still keeping a tight grip on the blanket covering her.

“Ok, there has to be a reasonable explanation for this.” She said, with an attempt at calm detachment. “In my state, I obviously couldn’t consent, so we can be sure we didn’t do anything. Right?”

“I don’t remember doing anything like that.” Bishop's tone was firm. 

“Well, then we didn’t. You’re the type of guy who would remember bedding a woman.” Anwen couldn't help herself. This jab at his character just tumbled out of her mouth.

He glared at her, a sharpness back in his voice. “Look, I wasn’t the one who woke up and snuggled into me.”

“I thought you were someone else!” Anwen snapped, her temper flaring back up.

A small smile appeared across his lips. He crossed his arms. “Oh, really? Who did you think I was? This ‘Cael’ person? Who is that anyway?”

“None of your damn business.” Anwen shot back.

“Hmmm, very interesting, considering as far as I knew, you had no friends or relatives in Skyrim."

Anwen said nothing, just gave him a dirty look.

Bishop rolled his eyes, “Fine, whatever. But I didn’t touch you. By Talos, I swear I have no idea why you’re naked.”

He crossed the room and sat down in the chair over by the wash basin. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, chin on his hands, eyes unfocused, clearly searching his head for answers.

“I know that after I put you to bed last night, I waited awhile until I was sure you were okay, you know, not going to be sick or something. Then I went back downstairs to drink some more. I think I came back up after that and-“ His words cut off abruptly and he looked rather sheepish.

“And what?” Anwen narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed, annoyed, or enjoying this.

“I think I took off my um, armor and… crawled into bed with you.”

“So, it WAS you! You instigated this...nakedness!” Her stomach gave an odd flutter. Why would he do that? She wondered.

“Just because I stripped myself doesn't mean I had anything to do with you somehow losing your own clothing! I had a lot to drink. My apologies for wanting to sleep somewhere other than the floor, princess. And Talos forbid, I choose not to sleep in my damn armor!”

“Well, you didn’t have to put your arms around me!”

“Yeah, I don’t recall doing that. For all we know, you made that happen." Bishop said airily. The glib tone was back.

Anwen saw with annoyance he was smirking again.

“You know, ranger, you’re not as irresistible as you think.”

“Hey, you’re the one that said I was sexy.”

"What? I did no such-.” She spluttered, but her voice cut off as the memory came rushing back. Feeling heat rising across her cheeks again, Anwen looked away and pulled the fur closer. She could feel Bishop’s eyes on her and looking back over at him, Anwen saw him staring at her appreciatively.

“Stop looking at me!” She snapped.

He gave her a flirtatious smile. “First night together and you already got naked and threw yourself at me.”

Oh by the Gods, that stupid cocky attitude again.

“We aren’t together!” Anwen said through gritted teeth.

Bishop leaned back in the chair in that infuriating way that he had last night, looking extremely amused, but he didn’t say anything.

Anwen felt her heartbeat quicken as another flurry of emotions hit her. Anger. Irritation. Humiliation. And something else she didn't want to acknowledge. No, she thought, he's as guilty as I am in this whole mess.

“Lie to yourself all you want, ranger.” She said, with an attempt at her own flippant tone. He wants to play these stupid games, fine. “You climbed into bed with me, and...” Something had just occurred to her. “Wait, why are you even in the same room as me?”

“Well, princess, you didn’t get yourself a room. I got my own and was kind enough to share it with the Dragonborn after she got incredibly drunk and almost ran off with some nobleman.”

His words hit her hard as once again she remembered, with disturbing clarity, the man that tried to get her to leave the inn with him last night. If Bishop hadn’t intervened, she just might have.

I’m an idiot, Anwen thought.

Shifting uncomfortably, Anwen couldn’t bring herself to look at Bishop as even more of last night’s events came rushing back, as they often do after any questionable drunken evening.

“By Akatosh,” she muttered to herself and put her head in her hands.

Now Bishop was laughing.

Anwen saw her boot on the floor next to the bed, picked it up and threw it at him. It bounced off the wall right behind him with a loud *thud* and hit the table with the wash basin, knocking a pitcher onto the floor. The pitcher hit the wooden floor with a clang and rolled under the bed.

“You know, violence is completely unnecessary.” Bishop chuckled. He hadn’t even flinched. “If you have that much pent up sexual tension, ladyship, just tell me. I can help you out.”

“Argh!” She glared at him, speechless in her rage and humiliation, unable to think of a single thing to say.

So she sat there, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing heavy, as if she had just sprinted up a hill. How does he do this to me?

Bishop put his hands up, grinning in a way that made her want to throw something else at him just to knock it off his stupid, annoyingly handsome face.

“Alright princess. I’ll let you get dressed. Maybe fighting some draugr will help rid you of some of that angst you carry around.”

She looked away as he quickly dressed. When Bishop had gathered up all his belongings and finally walked out, the door closing behind him, Anwen let the fur drop, rubbing her eyes again.

Amidst all the annoyance she was feeling towards Bishop, Anwen realized there were also a few other lingering thoughts and emotions. And questions.

Like how she felt so comfortable in his arms.

I thought it was Cael, Anwen reminded herself, as she began to gather the pieces of her armor. They were scattered all over the place.

What in Oblivion was I doing? She wondered. A hazy memory inched its way back into her mind. Something about Bishop crawling into bed with her, then she was awake and hot, so she got up and stripped and then…

_And then I climbed back into bed with him? Did I actually snuggle into him? Just like he said?_

Anwen closed her eyes.

"Well, he never needs to know that part because he doesn’t seem to remember it and I’m not going to tell him," she said out loud to the empty room.

No more wine for me anytime soon. Although, she noticed with a start, she didn't have a hangover. Normally, when she drank too much wine she'd wake up with a terrible headache, dry mouth, and extreme fatigue. However, right now, she felt fine, as if she hadn't had anything to drink at all.

Huh, I rather like that, she grinned to herself. I wonder if it's related to this whole Dovahkiin, Akatosh blessing, soul of a dragon thing. Which, she thought, brow furrowing as she rearranged items in her pack looking for soap and perfume, is still incredibly hard to believe.

When she was finally ready to leave, Anwen took a deep breath and braced herself for the tasks set before her.

Finding the damn Dragonstone.

And, she sighed, dealing with Bishop. Because, whether she liked it or not, she needed his damn help again.

I’d rather just fight another dragon, Anwen scowled to herself, stalking out of the room.

\------------------------------------------------------

 

“So, ladyship, who is this Cael?”

Anwen gritted her teeth and tried to keep her temper in check.

It had been a few hours now since the scene in the inn. Anwen and Bishop were headed to Bleak Falls Barrow, Karnwyr at their side. The sun had risen to bathe them with warm rays of light that filtered through softly rustling tree leaves. It made walking on the road back towards Riverwood very pleasant. When Bishop wasn’t talking, it was peaceful, just the whisper of the trees and melody of the birds singing to them with the wind. It helped Anwen stay at ease.

Then Bishop would open his mouth.

Anwen was even more annoyed than usual because it was the fourth time he’d asked in the past two hours. As if hounding her about it would make her finally relent and reveal who Cael was.

“Shut up around him already!”

“Damn, he was must be important to you, if you’re so determined to keep the guy a secret.” When Anwen turned to shoot Bishop a nasty glare, she noticed that while he was acting amused, there was a hint of seriousness around his words.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” She asked suspiciously.

Bishop shrugged. “I don’t really, but I can’t help but be curious about the man you so willingly cuddled up with earlier this morning." He paused in mock thought. "Oh wait, that was me.” He glanced at her, smirking.

Anwen punched him in the arm.

Bishop laughed. “Such unnecessary violence again.”

Before Anwen could respond, voices reached their ears, coming from around the bend in the road that was just ahead of them. Their view of the approaching travelers was blocked by a large outcrop of rock that jutted from the side of the hill the road wound around. Bishop tensed up, as did Anwen. Her right hand went to rest on her dagger, sheathed on her left side.

A squad of six soldiers, dressed in armor of the Imperial Legion, long, red cloaks fastened on their shoulders, appeared. They were walking with visible purpose.

The leader was unmistakable. He was the tallest and largest of the group, with broad shoulders, thick arms and long legs. Clad in heavy silver amour, with an enormous two-handed sword on his back, Anwen was beyond intimidated by his obvious strength. The rank insignia on his chest designated the man as a Captain and he almost ran down Bishop trying to pass both him and Anwen on the narrow turn in the road.

It was an odd moment, as Bishop was roughly the same size, save the bulky armour. They both stared each other down, neither willing to yield so the other could move on.

"Get out of my way, traitor." The Imperial Captain said in a dangerous voice.

"Does it look like I'm dressed as a Stormcloak to you?" Bishop growled.

"I don't need the signification of armor to show where your loyalties lie."

Bishop sneered. "Typical Imperial arrogance, always thinking that you know better than any other race. No wonder you're in bed with the Thalmor." He looked around at the other soldiers. "How does it feel? Betraying innocent people just so you can get yourself sucked off by an Aldmeri wench every night?"

The Captain grabbed Bishop and shoved him hard into the rocky ledge. He pressed his face into Bishop's until they were barely inches apart, eyes full of fury. "Watch your tongue, Nord, or I'll cut it out just to shut you up."

Bishop laughed. "You know, last time a person got this close to me, I ended up naked, in bed with them." His eyes narrowed and the smile left his face, "However you aren't even close to my type, so get the fuck off me. Now." And Bishop head butted the Captain, shoving him so hard that the man fell backward onto the ground in a tangle of clinking silver and leather.

Multiple hands had immediately wrapped around sword hilts, but none of the soldiers moved to attack. Frozen in a ready stance, it appeared that they were awaiting orders. Ready to unsheathe her own ebony dagger, a fireball appearing in her left hand, Anwen could only stand there, staring at the Imperial Captain sprawled on the ground, shocked at what she had just witnessed. Karnwyr let out a soft growl, hackles raised.

Breathing heavy, Bishop glared down at the Captain, who was hastily attempting to stand back up. His flushed face was murderous, but after a long, hard look at both Bishop and Anwen, and a glance at the fire flickering in her palm, he simply turned and walked away. The other soldiers stared fleetingly at Bishop. A couple appeared to be as surprised as Anwen at what had happened; but then they, too, turned, and followed their commanding officer.

Anwen closed her fist around the fireball and it vanished. She gazed up at Bishop, still in shock. Her heart was racing. He was watching the progress of the soldiers as they marched hurriedly away. Something like hatred flickered in his green eyes.

Then he grabbed Anwen's hand, almost protectively. His eyes were still on the backs of the Captain and the other Imperial soldiers as he pulled her around the rocky ledge that was blocking the rest of the road from view. With Karnwyr following warily, they both walked around the bend in the road and vanished from sight of the soldiers.

Bishop dropped her hand and stopped, bending over slightly.

"Milk-drinking sons of bitches." Anwen barely heard the words Bishop muttered under his breath as he rubbed his head, eyes closed, wincing slightly.

"What in Oblivion was that about?" She asked, her body shaking slightly from the sudden rise of adrenaline. She felt a new respect for him after that display of power. Or was it more than respect...

Bishop, slightly breathless still, opened his eyes and stood up straight again. Now he looked surprised. "Do you really not know?"

"Should I know?"

He shook his head at her and started walking again. "The Civil War. Imperials. Stormcloaks. Thalmor. The banning of Talos worship. The High King dead. All that exciting drama is happening in Skyrim right now ladyship. You chose the perfect time to come here."

"I wasn't aware the banning of Talos worship was still being fought over." She hurried after him. It was impossible for her to match his long strides and so, had to almost jog to catch back up with him again.

"In Skyrim, it is."

"And I suppose these Stormcloaks are the ones fighting with the Imperials over it." A memory came back to Anwen from the previous day. Back at Bishop's side, attempting to keep up, she pushed loose strands of hair out of her eyes."You know, the Jarl spoke of a man named Ulfric Stormcloak. He mentioned a failed execution someplace called Helgen."

"I had heard of that." Bishop said, sounding a bit bored as he glanced over at her. She noticed he had slowed his pace slightly. "Look, if you're so curious about all this, go to Windhelm and talk to Ulfric yourself. As you've ascertained, he's the leader of the Stormcloaks, the rebels fighting against the Aldmeri Dominion push to enforce the White-Gold Concordat's ban on Talos worship and all that. Frankly, I could care less. You should know though, Ulfric is accused of murdering the High King."

Anwen shook her head. "No thanks, I think I've got enough problems of my own right now. I don't need to add the whole of Skyrim's."

"That's the most sensible thing I've heard out of you yet, princess." Bishop chuckled.

He's right, seems like I picked a wonderful time to move to this country, Anwen thought to herself, biting her lip. Another voice in the back of her mind whispered unbiddingly, _but, maybe you were meant to, Dragonborn_.

With this thought, she took a deep breath, trying to will herself some strength. She didn't feel much like some great dragonslayer. So many things had happened so quickly in the past couple of weeks. She'd experienced terror, elation, triumph, happiness, a broken heart, love, shock, confusion, and had almost died. So many extremes so fast. This continual emotional onslaught was creating a great fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her with each passing day. Add in this idea that she was Dragonborn and it was almost too much to handle. It'd be too much for anyone to handle, Anwen told herself.

 When Anwen lifted her head again, to focus back on the road, she found Bishop staring at her. He had stopped walking again because she had too, without even realizing it.

"You alright there ladyship?" She almost thought she heard a touch of concern in his voice. Which, as before back at the inn, was unexpected, and a bit weird.

Anwen moved up to stand next to him.

"I'm fine." She responded with forced determination. Despite all that had happened in a short time, their original meeting, where he had treated her like some weak noble girl, was still fresh in her mind. He may have started showing her a bit more respect, but she wasn't about to test that by pouring out her fears and concerns to him over this Dragonborn business. I didn't do that last night, did I? That idea disturbed her. She quickly turned away from his inquiring eyes, her body suddenly full of a renewed vigor.

"C'mon ranger," Anwen called over her shoulder. "I'd like to get there before nightfall."

\------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They had stopped at Belethor's Goods in Whiterun for supplies before they had left and Anwen was now glad she had followed Bishop's suggestion to do so. The trek up the mountain towards Bleak Falls Barrow was a bit rough, and colder the higher up they went. She was beginning to understand why no one had already come to this place and found this blasted Dragonstone.

Anwen shivered and pulled the new fur lined cloak she had purchased more tightly around her, hood up to block the wind. At the same time, her boot lost its footing and she slipped. Bishop, who had been hiking next to her, grabbed her arm before she fell.

"Careful princess. I really don't want to have to carry you down the mountainside on my back because you broke a leg." He snickered.

Anwen narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. He, too, had his hood up, but seemed completely at ease traversing up this rocky, snow covered path.

"We best be careful," Bishop went on, his tone turned serious. "We're getting close and I want to approach very quietly. There may be bandits camped out in this place."

 _Bandits._ A knot tightened in her chest.

"What's wrong?" Bishop was squinting down at her through the swirling snow.

Anwen bowed her head against a side gust of icy wind and didn't reply.

"Wait," he said, the amusement back in his voice, "Is the almighty Dragonborn afraid of a few bandits? By Talos, you just killed a dragon!"

Anwen finally looked up at him. He was standing slightly in front of her, so his height advantage was increased due to the steep rockface of the mountain. "No." She responded shortly, doing her best to convey annoyance his question. Inside she was shaking. The bandit nightmares still plagued her, but she wasn't about to share any of that with him.

"Let's go," she muttered and started pushing her way past him. Anwen was sure she could feel his eyes on her, but Bishop said nothing else.

Surprising, she thought bitterly.

They hiked onward, footsteps crunching in snow. The occasional shrieks of mountain wind the only sound in their ears. 

"Ok, stop, ladyship," Bishop said suddenly, putting his left arm out in front of her. Karnwyr seemed to understand this gesture and looked expectantly up at his master.

Before Anwen could ask why they were stopping, a large gust of wind momentarily cleared the air. The faint outline of stone steps and a massive structure behind it became visible. Dark shadows moved around them. She blinked, but then it was gone. All she could see again was blinding whiteness.

_Bandits. No. I can't._

A panic was threatening to overcome her, images of what had happened in that cave flashing across her mind. Those empty, evil eyes. His putrid breath. The size of his body. The smell of his dirty skin. The feel of it against her naked breasts. Anwen swallowed hard, reaching over and grasping her dagger. The feel of the solid metal in her hand was a small comfort.

_I am not powerless this time. Nor am I alone._

"Ok," Bishop said, gently pulling her down, closer to him. He hadn't seemed to notice her desperate grab for the dagger.

Now they were both kneeling in the snow, Bishop's mouth pressed into her hood. His words were a whisper in her ear, warm breath tickling her neck. His scent was woodsy, a hint of a musky spice she couldn't place. The sensation of Bishop so close to her was somehow reassuring and it calmed her. The anxiety receded a little.

"I'm going to scout and see how many we are up against. Hopefully it's only a few outside as guards and a few inside. If I don't like the odds, I'm going to have to come up with another plan to get to this Dragonstone. Or we'll have to hire someone to help us."

"What's with the 'we'?" Anwen asked. "I hired you!"

"Ok, whatever, I'd hire someone." There was a bit of impatience in his voice. "Look, that's not the immediate issue! Just wait here and be on your guard. I'll be right back." Motioning to Karnwyr to stay next to Anwen, Bishop disappeared into the wall of whirling whiteness. It swallowed him immediately and he was gone.

Anwen kept her head down against the continous gusts of wind, but a hand was still on her dagger, her mind ready to use magic. She knew Karnwyr would notify her of oncoming danger. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in her throat from coming back.

**_They are just men._ **

**_Horrible, evil, terrible men._ **

A small shiver, having nothing to do with cold air pushing against her body, ran down her back.

**_You can slay dragons! They have no power over you._ **

**_But the dragon had honor. It only tried to kill me. These men have none. They will do more than just take my life._ **

Her throat was dry.

As she crouched there, Anwen was reminded of another moment, where she had waited, in a dangerous situation, for a man to come back to her. The memory came in a flood of heartache. The last glimpse she had of those pale blue eyes, the anguish on his face, as Cael let her slip away from him. He had let her go to save her, she knew that, but a single tear still spilled out of her eye, freezing on her cheek. She brushed it away with a gloved hand and with enormous effort locked Cael into the back of her mind. If she wanted to live to see him again, she, too, was going to have to let him go. For now.

Soft footsteps. Bishop appeared in a flurry of snow, his hood had fallen down and he was breathing slightly heavy, brushing white powder off his hair and face. "I managed to take down two of them," He said, bending down to speak to her again. "But there are two more and they noticed my presence. At least it seemed like one of them did. I say, we split up, come at them from both sides. You come from the right, I'll sneak around from the left. With, at least, a small element of surprise we should be able to take them down easily. But, don't attempt to take him head on. Use a ranged weapon, your bow or one of those fireballs you're so good at throwing." Bishop grinned at her.

Anwen gave him an irritated look, "Thank you Captain Obvious. I'd never have figured that out on my own."

Bishop bowed his head in mock reverence, "Of course my ladyship."

"Can we just do this, smartass? It's going to start getting dark soon."

"Follow me. I'll let you know when to split off."

In a somewhat sneaking position, Anwen followed Bishop up the steep turn in the path, Karnwyr bringing up the rear of their little party.

It wasn't far before she saw the beginning of the huge stone steps. Two dark shapes were lurking about. From what she could tell, their body language indicated they were watching for intruders. Glancing at Bishop, she saw him motion her to follow the edge of the steps to the right.

Anwen turned and began the trek around the Nordic ruin's outer structure. Everything was just ghostly shapes in the blinding whiteness from the ongoing snowstorm. Evening was coming and so the light was slowly fading. It was isolating. No noise but the slight crunch of her boots and the random howls of the wind. However, it didn't take long before she reached the shelter of massive pillars and the overhang of a crumbling stone roof. Deciding a bow was the quieter option, she got into a good position to fire from behind cover, and then began to search for her mark. But she couldn't see anything. Unfortunately, she realized, she was going to have to sneak closer.

The panic was rising again in her throat. Anwen had been trying to ignore it. She knew she was going to have to find a way to face and work through the trauma of her kidnapping, but putting herself in this particular situation seemed to be a foolish thing to do at this point. If she had known fighting bandits would be part of the job she'd taken, she would have reconsidered accepting it, gold or not. Reliving her kidnapping and torture was becoming a regular occurrence as she slept. Last night's drunken antics had been the first time she'd gone a night without them. During those hours she'd spent sleeping at the inn in Riverwood, more than once she'd awoken to find herself twisted in bedsheets, soaked in sweat, convinced the bandit chief was on top of her, his body pushing her down on the ground, as he violently thrust himself inside her.

Anwen shook her head hard, as if doing so would toss the memories away. She couldn't allow herself to be overcome with panic and fear. Bishop was trusting her to be his backup. She had to take a hold of her emotions. 

_Take control._

Twilight was falling faster now. Steeling herself, Anwen inched forward, still in a crouching position. She squinted out from under her hood and the wind whipped it off with a sudden, massive gust that almost knocked her over. Still, she couldn't see anything. Forward she went. Just a bit more. And then a bit more. Her heart was beating madly. Anwen knew she had to be getting close to the entrance.

And then, as if some giant hand had swept it out of the way, the wind blew the curtain of blinding white snow from before her eyes. And the man was standing there, mere feet away, looking right at her.

"Well, hello there my sweet," He leered, showing a mouth full of yellow pointed teeth. "So kind of you to join us up here. Seems almost a pity to kill a beauty like you." He tightened his grip on his huge bone-like sword, moving slowly towards her.

Anwen made to stand up and back away from him, raising her bow to aim, but she slipped. With both hands still on her weapon, she didn't catch herself in time and fell, sinking back into the deep snow. Bow and arrow slid out of her hands and she froze, both in body and mind, as the bandit moved closer to her. He laughed, a raspy, beast-like laugh. There was pure bloodlust on his face.

Time slowed. Anwen stared up at him. He raised his sword, still laughing. The sword hung in the air for what seemed like the longest second before it began to fall.

Then Bishop was there. "NO!" She heard him yell as he hurled out of nowhere, slamming himself into the man. They both went flying out of view. There was a scuffling, noises like punches, grunting, a gurgle, then silence. Bishop reappeared, breathing heavy, he was sheathing his dagger and had a bloody lip. There was also a long cut across his leather armor on his upper right arm. It appeared to have gone clear through to the skin. It was bleeding, dripping onto the white snow by Anwen's feet.

He bent down hurriedly, staring into her eyes, worry creased into lines across his face. Was that a flicker of fear in his eyes or a reflection of her own? She tried to move her hand up to his face. There was nothing there. She was floating. Numb. 

Bishop's voice came from the echo of a far tunnel. Anwen was speeding backwards, away from those dark green orbs. Was he touching her arm? "Anwen, are you okay? What happened? Talk to me!" He glanced to his left, seemingly towards the body of the bandit. The dark blonde hair and rugged face blurred around the edges. "Anwen? Anwen! Stay with me! Anwen!" Was it fear now in his voice?

Before she could attempt to respond, her mind slipped and stumbled. And she followed, the world becoming fuzzy, Bishop's face fading away, her body tumbling into nothingness.


	8. The Ranger's Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effects of the awakening of Anwen's powers begin to show as Bishop grapples with the feelings he's developing for her. Feelings he doesn't want.

_"Cael...where are...you...Cael...please..."_

Helplessly, Bishop watched Anwen moan, thrashing around in her sleep. He took the cloth he'd soaked in melted snow and wiped her forehead. She whimpered. The fever coursing through her body seemed to be causing her terrible pain. Right now she looked to be having a nightmare, mumbling and calling out for the "Cael" guy. Whoever the hell he was.

He didn't know what to do, unsure of whether to try and move her, if it was worth carrying her down the mountain back to Whiterun to a healer. Or if that would make everything worse.

So he sat there, wiping her with cold water, dripping water down her throat when he could manage it. And he had no choice this time. She was now stripped down to her underwear, lying on his bedroll, on the floor of the huge cavern, next to the fire. The fur blanket he had covered her with was twisted around her from all the movement. Fevers were always hard to battle and without knowing the cause of this one, it was hard for him to figure out how to treat her. He wasn't ignorant to handling illnesses, fevers, or injuries, but this...this was new to him.

Anwen's body stopped moving. She was on her back now. Her mouth partially open, she let out a quiet moan.

Watching her, the memory of what happened earlier outside started to play in his head. He'd seen the raising of the sword. The fall towards the ground. The terror on her face. The fragile state of her body. And he had dived. Thrown all his strength into doing anything to stop the blade from piercing her skin.

Bishop closed his eyes, trying to stay calm. His fists clenched. Seeing that had affected him in a way he did not expect. 

Everything was a blur of color after she passed out in his arms. Picking her up. Carrying her into the shelter of an alcove. Ordering Karnwyr to guard her. And then he stormed the door to the ruin, with the brutality of a wild animal taking down it's prey, driven by the intensity of his fury towards those that would harm her. It was both that and a desire to get her limp body to safety that sent him into a whirlwind of arrows, daggers and sword. Yells, screams, fire, flashing silver, clanging iron. He took down one, then two. A third. A fourth. When it was over, nothing surrounded him. Nothing but blood and torn flesh. Dead eyes staring at him. And he felt only pleasure at their pain.

And that was not normal for him. BIshop was never one to feel such crazy bloodlust. Despite his outwardly cool, and sometimes harsh, demeanor, he did not enjoy taking life. A hunt respectful of nature and her beautiful creatures was one thing (he didn't acknowledge any Daedra) but taking a human life was much different. Even when it had to be done.

But this. Killing these ones. He almost liked it. The protective feeling that Bishop was developing for Anwen was stronger than he realized. And so, covered in blood, with a heavy chest and sweat running down his brow, he'd torn back outside, to bring Anwen into the warmth of the outer entrance of the ruins. Which was where they were now. That's when she started shaking. Bishop had placed her gently down on the cracked stone floor and then tore open his pack, unrolling his bedroll and blanket and making up a bed for her. After he was satisfied she would be as comfortable as was possible in such a place as these ruins, he told Karnwyr to watch over her. And so the wolf did, sitting next to her like a sentinel, a white guardian, while Bishop cleared bodies and made sure the area was secure.

It had been hours now. Long ones. And he sat there, desperate to help her fight whatever it was that had taken control of her. Karnwyr sniffed Anwen gently and looked at his master, a small whine in his throat. It was his way of saying that he knew something was wrong and was worried. She was hurting and like Bishop, Karnwyr was her protector. He lay next to her, on the opposite side of where Bishop sat. And they both watched and waited.

From what Bishop could see, she wasn't physically injured. Thank Talos he'd been able to intervene before the sword had touched her. But, the fact that it had been necessary for him to do so was very puzzling. There had been a split second before he reacted where the raw fear on her face screamed out to him. And she had been physically frozen, in some type of shock. It wasn't the first time Bishop experienced that happening to someone, but after watching Anwen, undaunted, charge into a dragon battle, face it down and then jump on it's back...I mean, it didn't make sense to see her terrified of fighting one single bandit. On their hike up the mountain she did tense up, acting very oddly when he spoke of bandits, and though he joked with her, there had been a lingering question he didn't vocalize, but, still, he thought, what happened had been extremely unexpected.

And now this weird fever. Was this some type of side effect of absorbing that dragon's soul? But, why did she call out for Cael? Why did she appear frightened, like something horrific was haunting her? Chasing her? Hurting her...

Bishop wasn't used to these types of feelings. He had numbed himself to emotion a long time ago, keeping people far from giving him a reason to care. But, the detachment he usually felt in any type of situation similar to this one, it, well, it wasn't there. Instead, his chest was tight with worry. The very core of him rattled by everything that had and was happening. Then again, he thought, nothing about this situation was typical, nor had he experienced anything like it before. Not really. And never had a woman walked so easily into his life. Or gotten so quickly into his head.

He tried to push these thoughts away, but they kept lingering around the edges of his mind. Bishop wiped Anwen's forehead again with cool water. She cried out suddenly. Karnwyr made a startled movement. 

His hand was on hers before he realized it even moved. Her skin seared with fever under his. And he wrapped his larger fingers protectively around her small ones. She was trembling again. 

"It's okay Anwen. I'm here." The whisper of words tumbled out as he squeezed her hand gently. It was reflexive. An action done without thought.

After a few seconds her body relaxed, her breathing slow again. With his free hand, Bishop pushed some wet strands of hair off her forehead. Anwen's skin was so pale that even the freckles sprinkling her face looked somehow faded. For a few minutes he just sat there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, holding her hand in his. It felt so petite. Looked so small. His head dropped to gaze at where his rough, tan skin met hers, softer, and so much lighter than his own.

With a sudden movement that caused Karnwyr to sit up in alarm, Bishop let go and turned away from her. There had to be something in her pack, he thought, turning to look for it. She'd been on the road a long time before meeting him, that was obvious. She couldn't have come empty handed. A potion, some herbs, anything that would help break a fever. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight. Why hadn't he picked up some healing potions at Belethor's? Stupid and reckless thing to do. And he knew better.

The smooth, dark leather bag was with his, near where he sat by the fire with Anwen. Karnwyr lay his head softly on her arm as Bishop went to grab the lightweight bag. Untying the thick bindings, he peered into the surprisingly wide opening. It had obviously been enchanted to be feather light and appear smaller on the outside than it actually was. And the inside actually glowed, casting a soft light over the many items hidden within. Pushing his hand into the bag, Bishop moved aside one thing after the next, searching for bottles, pouches, anything alchemy related. After a minute of pushing through clothing, a few books, a fancy silver brush, and soap, his fingers touched something hard. He pulled it out. It was a small vial of violet liquid marked "For a dreamless sleep. Take 3 drops". Briefly wondering why she needed help sleeping without dreaming, Bishop placed it back into the pack. As he dropped it back in, there was a clink and another, larger bottle appeared. This liquid was a dark crimson red and marked simply "Elixir Vitae".

Relief flooded him. It was a powerful, but very rare potion. Very hard to come by and extremely expensive because only the most skilled alchemists could create it, but it was said to be able to cure almost anything. Wondering how she obtained such a thing, but thankful she had, Bishop very carefully removed the crystal sealing the potion. A small dropper was attached to the crystal stopper. 

Careful not to waste any, Bishop placed the bottle cautiously on the ground next to him and gently parted Anwen's lips. One small drop onto her tongue should be enough. She stirred briefly again, another whimper escaping her mouth. Quickly Bishop resealed the bottle and then placed it back into her pack.

The cloth was soaking again in the little bowl filled with cold water. Picking it up, Bishop placed it on her forehead, keeping it there this time. Then he turned and unrolled the fur blanket that had been tied to Anwen's pack since he'd given her his own. Laying down next to her small form, he put his hand back around hers and closed his eyes, exhausted, listening to her slow breathing, and eventually drifting uneasily to sleep.

 

* * *

 

"Bishop, come on! You're going to miss it!" 

Bishop looked around, turning in a complete circle, his eyes darting about. There was nothing but heavy fog. The air was gray, full of dark shapes and shadows. It was damp, a slight breeze playing through his hair, but it felt...unnatural. He heard Anwen's voice in the distance again.

"Anwen? Where are you?" His voice echoed through the misty clouds.

"I'm here! Hurry!" Bishop began running towards the sound of her calls. An urgency tugged at his heart. For reasons unknown to him, he knew he must get to her. And quickly.

He moved his feet as fast as he could, still seeing nothing but the dark, melancholy haze saturating the air. His body was heavy with a foreboding unease. There was something strange going on. Her voice called back to him once more, but it was moving away. He ran faster.

He ran and ran, yet only more of the thick, gloomy fog appeared. Were his feet even moving? He looked down. No, they were there, at least, they looked to be. How much time had passed? Anwen's voice had disappeared. His heart was pounding, a rhythm beating in his ears, like the drums of an executioner. Wait, why was he thinking of executions? Then, with a sudden shock, he was in bright purple-blue light. No, it was red, no yellow, no green. No, it was changing colors.

Bishop found himself on a winding stone path, surrounded by trees and dark green bushes.

"Bishop, Bishop, Bishop..." It was Anwen's voice again, sounding like she was singing his name. He wasn't sure why, but it made the hairs on his arms and neck stand up. What, in Oblivion, was going on?

Wait, when did he stop running? Startled, he charged back into a sprint down the path of white stones. It wound back and forth, teasing him at every sharp corner where he hoped to see the long dark hair and big, sparkling eyes. The ever constant color changing air glittered around him. Still, no Anwen.

There was roar and the whooshing of wings. The air shimmered with power. Bishop looked up to see a massive, black dragon fly overhead. And then everything went dark. Oppressive. And sinister. Loud, soul-shaking thunder rumbled across a sky he could no longer see.

Screams tore through the blackness, followed by cries of pain. And then again, from far off, he heard Anwen calling to him, once again in that sing-song voice.

"Bishop, love, come on! You're going to miss him!"

Frustrated and confused, Bishop began his trek again, now through a world so black he felt the weight of it on his shoulders. No light could ever hope to penetrate it. Why am I thinking that, he thought, startled.

And then, somehow, he knew where to go. His feet continued to pound against the stone pathway. 

A blue apparition slid into his view.

"Help me!" It cried as flew past. "He's going to devour me!" 

Bishop didn't slow his pace, and it vanished quickly in the deep, inky darkness. He heard a yell from the place where it disappeared.

Shivering, with a creeping dread slowly spreading through to his bones, Bishop ran harder.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, breath coming in short, quick gasps. Bubbles of apprehension floated around in his chest. He heard more roars from the dragon, now invisible in the never ending darkness. They were followed by another scream that came from somewhere beyond.

Was he ever going to escape this hell? Was Anwen lost? Was he?

And then the blackness broke with such abruptness that Bishop was momentarily blinded. As his vision cleared, he saw her. In a wide open space full of green grass, bright light shining down from a swirling, rainbow colored sky and bouncing off her gleaming silver armor. When she saw him, a big smile appeared on her face.

"You came!" She cried, crossing the empty space in between them quickly, wrapping herself around his body in a tight hug,

With her arms still around his neck, she pulled back to gaze at him. "Are you ready?" She was still smiling. It was a little freaky.

"For what? What are you talking? Anwen!" But she broke away and walked back to where she'd been standing before. Like she was taking her place for a performance.

A silver sword was in her hands, as if conjured out of nowhere. Perhaps it had been. Determined to get Anwen to tell him what the hell was going on, Bishop made to take a step towards her, but the shouts stopped him.

"I'm ready Alduin!" She yelled. "Come and fight me! Show your strength! Enough of sending others to kill me! Enough of your endless boasting! Let's finish this now!"

Bishop's confusion and anger were growing. Who the hell was Alduin? Why was she-? And then he saw it. The great black dragon was dropping down from the glittering, swirling sky. 

It hovered over her, it's great wings flapping violently, powerfully. "MEY! You think you can kill me, Dovhakiin? No one has ever been able to, and that will not change now." The confidence in his prideful words was cold and cruel and his deep voice echoed through the sky above.

Anwen looked over at Bishop and smiled. "Know that I will always love you, Cael." Bishop stared at her.

"Anwen! Anwen! What are you doing? No!" He just realized what was happening.

Anwen looked back up at the massive dragon and opened her mouth. "JOOR ZAH FRUL!" The creature was knocked out of the sky, landing with a groundshaking crash right in front of her. She took off running, and with a graceful leap, landed on it's neck. It roared and spat fire and she drove the huge silver sword into it's head.

It all happened incredibly fast. Anwen looked at Bishop, the smile now gone, tears in her eyes, "I must kill him Bishop, but I don't want to lose you. Don't leave me. Please." And Bishop watched in horror as a great wind poured from the collapsing dragon into her body and with the crackling of a dying fire, her skin turned into embers and ash and blew away into nothingness.

"Bishop, don't leave me." Her voice was a fading echo.

And then...she was gone.

 

* * *

 

"No! Anwen! Anwen!" His own terrified voice woke him. 

Bishop sat up straight, heart threatening to burst out of his chest, breathing so heavily he was dizzy. "Anwen! No...no." Disoriented, it took him a few minutes to remember where he was and that he'd been asleep. It had only been a dream. He looked over to see, to reassure himself. She was still there. She was still alive.

By the Gods, it had only been a dream. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

_Just a dream._

"Bishop." He jumped. It was Anwen.

 _Anwen._  

"Bishop," she breathed, her eyes still closed. "Where are you?" She started to jerk around, "Bishop, I have to kill him! Bishop, please, don't leave. I can't lose you."

Shocked, he stared down at her.

_But, that's what she said in my dream..._

Even more shaken now, he slowly reached for her hand. "Anwen, I'm here...and I'm not leaving." His voice was as soft as hers. At these words, she became still, turning her sleeping face towards him. "Stay with me." She whispered. Her hair tumbled down in pieces across her face, her cheeks, her nose, across her cracked and dry lips. He reached out, tracing his fingers across her lips before pushing her hair back behind her ears. Bishop couldn't help himself, she looked so fragile, and he wanted nothing more at that moment then to scoop her up into his arms and just hold her.

"I'm not leaving you Anwen." He whispered again. A tear trickled down her cheek.

_I don't understand. DId we have the same dream? How is that possible?_

And he sat there, his hand covering hers, fiercely, protectively. And she was quiet again. Bishop didn't know what to do, his mind was ablaze. Something was happening. But, what? A few minutes went by and she said no more. The sweat that was glazed on her skin told him that the fever had finally broken. Gently placing her hand back on the blanket, Bishop rubbed his face and shook his head.

_No. What am I doing? What the hell am I feeling?  I don't want to hold her._

He needed to think. Or maybe to not think. He wasn't sure.

The fire had died down. He didn't know how long he'd been out. Karnwyr had jerked his head up as soon as his master had. He watched him with eyes that Bishop knew conveyed worry and so, reached out to graze a hand across the white wolf's head, to tell him it was okay. Karnwyr laid his head back down near Anwen's, but did not close his eyes again.

_That nightmare had been so...real. And then Anwen, she spoke in her sleep, those same words from the dream. None of this makes any fucking sense._

Taking out a prized bottle of whiskey from a hidden pocket in his pack, Bishop uncorked it and took a long drink. And a second one. A third. It burned reality and sense back into his mind, as he tried desperately to rid himself of the memory of Anwen turning to ash, of that terrible black dragon....

After the fourth drink, he set the bottle down and turned to build the fire back up.

Soon it was crackling and hot, filling the cave with a warm glow. Anwen was going to need to eat when she awoke, he thought. He went back to his pack and pulled out the provisions he'd bought in Whiterun. Some tea, coffee, hard bread, large chunk of cheese, a few apples, and pieces of deer jerkey.

He set about boiling water for tea and coffee. He needed the caffeine and she should have something warm, like tea. The normalcy of the work calmed him and Bishop was soon able to push the dream away, along with those other disturbing thoughts that had popped into his head. Chewing on a piece of jerky, he glanced over again at Anwen. The way she was sleeping, it was only the movement of her chest rising and falling that reassured him she was still alive.

Anwen slept on. Another hour passed. Or so Bishop estimated. He didn't have a way to tell without going outside. He'd made himself a cup of strong coffee, added a shot of whiskey to it, and eaten a bit more. He didn't want to wake her. Whatever her body had been fighting, he knew it needed to recover.

In the quiet, as he sat there, his ears were now picking up sounds from far below. They were safe. He'd seen to that. A heavy iron gate barred the only entrance he could find to the lower chambers. But, the draugr were moving around, at least some were. Distant growls and echoing footsteps floated up to him. He scowled. So much had happened to them already, just in their attempt to enter this cursed place. He despised Nordic ruins that'd been left sealed until treasure seekers found their way in, waking these walking dead. This stupid map better be here.

_And when this fool's errand is done, I'm demanding that we be paid double._

What felt like another hour passed. Bishop had taken out a book to read. It was a secret pastime of his, reading books full of old legends and tales. He carried a few tomes with him wherever he went and actually knew more about the stories of legendary Dragonborns then he would ever admit to Anwen. It wasn't something he shared with anyone. Warriors, rogues, rangers. Those trained for fighting, even the dirty kind that some rogues practiced, they weren't supposed to be scholars or readers. Reading was for nobles, mages, teachers, bards, and alchemists. The rich, powerful, and physically weak. The ones born with no skill for battle or lacking in the courage to learn. The ones dedicated to learning and teaching, being bred for powerful, cushy political roles, or studying magic, the science of making potions, or those desiring to just be entertainers. Even if mages knew deadly spells, it didn't mean they could handle themselves in a fight. He wasn't a scholar, a mage, or an alchemist and sure as hell was no noble. And he definitely had no desire to be one of those men singing tales of people far braver then themselves and using it to seduce their lovers. No, he was a survivalist. He fought battles. Hunted. Earned his coin helping those weak people. He could take care of himself. He was a fighter, a loner. 

But his older brother had begun teaching him to read when he was only 7 years old. Books full of thrilling historical legends and tales of heroes had become a refuge for his mind when reality had tried to pound him into nothing. When they had nothing to eat. When they traveled from one place to another with no bed to rest in. When his parents fought. When his father hit his mother. When his mother bedded other men in a room nearby. When his father brought back whores and sent his sons out into the cold. Books. Books, his brother, and, when he got a bit older, a stolen bottle of whiskey, were his friends, his comfort. And so he read whenever he had moments where relaxation was needed. And this particular moment very much called for it.

He felt, more than he heard, Anwen stir.

With a snap, the book was back at the bottom of his pack. He moved closer to her. Her eyelids fluttered. Then slowly opened. Her lips parted, but when she went to speak, nothing but a cough came out.

"Wait, you need water." He said and picked up the canteen he'd filled earlier. Bringing the opening to her lips, Anwen tilted her head up and sipped. 

"A little more." He urged. She gulped and took another drink. Then, with a deep breath, she laid back down.

"Bishop? What happened?" Her voice cracked, eyes searching him blearily.

The story came out in a gentle voice, a tone that he didn't even know he had. He told her of what had transpired since she'd fainted out in the snow. Except for the dream and the words she spoke afterwards in her sleep. That, he thought, was best left for another time. If he ever spoke about it at all, which he didn't think he would.

As he went through the events of the past day, however, her face turned from confusion into horror and then to embarrassment. Color, in the form of a pink blush, appeared across her freckled skin.

With an unexpected speed and strength, she bolted upright, the fur sliding down her chest a little. She hadn't seemed to notice her lack of clothing. "I-I  _fainted?_ " He saw the redness in her cheeks deepen.

"Will you calm down?" He said. "And please, lay back down. You didn't just faint. Your body was...fighting something off. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, it's been bad. I didn't know what to do. I ended up searching through your pack for a healing potion and found a bottle of Elixir Vitae, a very powerful one. I fed you a drop and it looks like it broke your fever."

She'd listened to him and was lying down again. "Yes, I think Malin must have put that into my pack, before I...left Cael."

It was quiet then, except for the crackling of the fire. Anwen said nothing after that curious statement and Bishop, well, he didn't know if he should ask her to elaborate. This whole incident, coupled with that nightmare, had been more unnerving, maybe even far worse, than watching her kill a beast long thought extinct.

But Anwen spoke again before he could decide. Her voice was soft, hesistant. "I-Bishop, there's...there's something I need to tell you. I hadn't planned on telling you this. I didn't want to. It's my burden to bear. But, if not sharing this puts us both in more danger...I mean, I can't go passing out in fights-"

"But, ladyship, you didn't-" He began. 

Anwen looked at him, gripping his arm. He started. He could have sworn a burst of flame had just appeared behind her eyes. But he blinked, and it was gone.

"Bishop, please, just let me speak." And her voice was suddenly strong and clear. That alone, kept him from arguing further.

And she began to tell him her own story. An almost unbelievable one. How she'd fled to Skyrim. How she had been kidnapped. When she got to the part about what had happened in the cave with the bandits, her voice faltered. And what she said ripped a sharp slice of anger across his chest. There was a pain in his palm. He looked down and saw he had clenched his fists, burying his fingernails in so deep he'd drawn blood.

"Cael." The name broke his momentary distraction. She was describing her rescue and recovery and he now only remembered who she was referring to.

"Wait, Cael?" But he stopped. It was _that_ guy. The one she thought he'd been when they awoke in bed together. The one he teased her about on the journey here. The name she whispered while she was feverish. The one, in his dream, that she said she loved.

He looked up at her, these thoughts crossing his mind quickly, awakening those unwanted feelings. She nodded, "Yes, the guy I, um, mentioned when we were in Whiterun." An awkward silenced followed. Bishop knew they were both remembering the same moment.

He broke the tension with a question, trying to gain more control over himself, "So, he rescued you? Him and his people, you said? Wait, what do you mean, _his people_?"

"He said they were called the Forsworn."

"The what? The _**Forsworn**?_   The **_Forsworn_** rescued you!?" Bishop didn't intend to sound angry, but he found he was. And it wasn't just because this Cael guy was Forsworn. Something had obviously gone on between Cael and Anwen for her to cry out for him in her pain and for her to be, so...cuddly, when she thought he was Cael, and then to say she....loved him? Loved? Well, Bishop thought more bitterly than he knew he should,  _Cael_   was like her damn knight-in-shining armor, riding to the rescue.  And, he, realizing with an unpleasant shock, was feeling a bit...jealous? What in Oblivion?? No. No, he couldn't be. Why the hell would he care what she did with another guy? Or who she loved? It's not like he wanted her to love _him_.

He was so lost in thought that it was a few moments before he became aware that Anwen was no longer talking. Just staring at him, an expression across her beautiful face, that looked almost like, amusement. Were his thoughts showing on his own face? He shifted uncomfortably, unable to look her in the eye.  _Beautiful._ Had he just thought, again, that she was beautiful? Bishop ran a hand through his hair and once again attempted to push away the annoying thoughts and feelings that were repeatedly threatening to crack the cold, glass shelter that was his reality and, he thought, his protection against those big, inquisitive eyes. 

"So, the Forsworn rescued you." The anger was gone. He kept his voice detached, calm. That was better, he thought.

Anwen was still watching him curiously, as she lay below him on the bedroll, having long let go of his arm. But, she answered. Overall she was starting to look better. Stronger. The embarrassment was long gone from her cheeks, but her natural color was returning, her freckles darkening."Yes. I mean, I didn't know it was so odd. Or that it should be strange. But, he did tell me a little about the violent history between the Forsworn and the Nordic peoples." 

Bishop didn't respond to this. It was not the time to discuss the matter further or share his own experiences with the Forsworn. Nor did he have any desire to. It was a topic he wished to avoid at all cost.

He cleared his throat. "So, you stayed with his clan. They took you in? They took care of you?" 

"Yes, and it took me a long time to truly feel normal again. Malin was an older woman, a skilled healer, and so she was able to mend my physical wounds completely, but," Anwen's voice became quieter, "I suppose it was more emotional healing that I needed and then there were the dreams..." She cleared throat, "Anyway, the one night...well, I had finally felt well enough to get out of bed. I was myself again.  And Cael and I had gone to, um, and-we," She broke off suddenly and Bishop noticed her face redden.  He decided he didn't want to know what Cael and her had gone to do.

"Anyway," she said again hastily, pulling the blanket back up to her chin, looking into the fire. He had the distinct feeling she didn't want to look him in the eye now. "We came back from our...walk...and someone had attacked his village." Her voice softened once more and she sounded sad. "I had to flee to Riverwood. He told me they would take me if I didn't, they wanted retribution." And with those words, Anwen stopped talking. It looked like it was too much for her to keep going. Something in the expression she was wearing  told him she was flashing back to that moment.

But she didn't need to say anymore. Bishop wasn't stupid and he knew his countrymen too well. It was obvious what had happened. Whoever those bandits were, they still had friends, family and when they saw their loved ones had been killed by Forsworn, they decided to take revenge and seek out the person who had caused it all. Even though Anwen was the innocent victim of their assault, his fists clenched together again, lowlife scum like that would blame her for their fight with the Forsworn. The chief of the Forsworn clan, which was Cael apparently, would be the second target. And there were quite a few bandit groups known to be exceptionally cruel in their crimes. Particularly to women. His stomach churned at the thought of what they might have done, had they been able to get a hold of Anwen again. Did she understand that Cael had saved her life twice?

Well, Bishop thought sardonically, and against his will, if that doesn't get a gorgeous woman like Anwen to fall madly in love with you, what would? The story of Cael's rescue was much more romantic than what had just happened here. Dramatic. Heroic. Like a story.

Still, he thought with a bit of satisfaction, he saved her life too, as much as Cael did. But, he reminded himself, why do I care if she has feelings for this guy? And again, he pushed away the uncomfortable knot that appeared in his chest.

He wasn't sure she completely understood this dynamic with the Forsworn, bandits or no, being that she was not a Skyrim native. Her understanding of their society and culture was based purely on books. And books always got things wrong. Still, as he watched her sit up to drink more water, he didn't want to tell her, to add to her pain by pointing out that by rescuing her, that Forsworn clan had brought a, most likely, very vicious and violent attack down upon them. He hated the Forsworn and would almost always attack before asking questions, but still, what they had done for her. Saving her life. Rescuing her from a horrific fate. And not just once, but twice. This particular group sounded like they went against the stereotypical Forsworn savages. And despite her relationship with _Cael_ , he found himself starting to become unable to think his name, the man had saved her. He knew that he was not always respectful towards women, it depended on the character of the woman; but, he had no tolerance for physical or sexual abuse of any kind towards any woman, whether they were a whore at a brothel or the Queen of Skyrim. So he had grudging respect for this Forsworn Chief. Which irritated the hell out of him. In part, Anwen was the naive noble girl that he saw when they first met, but she had also been through a great deal and to have to flee, completely alone, to a new country, only to be assaulted and nearly gang-raped by any entire group of bandits...white, hot anger licked his insides at this thought. If Cael's group hadn't killed them already, he certainly would have wanted to. 

Things were very quiet after this. Anwen looked exhausted and didn't appear to want to engage in any more discussions. She didn't even question why he'd removed her armor. With a weary smile, she thanked him and gratefully drank the tea he prepared for her, and attempted to eat a little before laying back down on the bedroll. Without speaking, they both seemed to understand that she needed more sleep before they made any treks farther into the ruin. And he would do well to get some more himself.

Yet, after she fell back to sleep, Karnwyr laying protectively next to her, Bishop found that he was wide awake. He sat by the fire, staring into the flames, letting the comfort of the heat wash over him as he drank more whiskey. Once again, like back in Whiterun, he was very unsettled.  And he now understood why attempting to kill that one bandit had caused her to freeze like she did. The trauma Anwen experienced wasn't going to just disappear overnight. Still, he wasn't about to pry further into it unless she volunteered the information. What could he even do anyway? 

Bishop also found, but refused to acknowledge to himself, that a small ache settled in his heart at the thought of her suffering. That dreamless sleep potion made sense now.

It was a lot of to take in at once. The bandit almost killing her right in front of him. That terrible fever. Learning more about Cael. Hearing her story of the assault and rescue. And that dream. _That dream._   What in Oblivion was that? And then after all of that, he knew something had changed between him and Anwen. This was the first conversation, since meeting in Riverwood, where it hadn't been all snarky flirtations and emotional outbursts. It had been serious and eye-opening and her near death experience and his rush to her aid had created some kind of bond between them. A type of bond that he hadn't had with anyone for a very long time. He didn't like it. He didn't like being attached to anyone in any way. Ever. At the end of the day, Bishop wanted to be able to walk away and never look back. That was his life and it had been that way since he first decided to leave his worthless parents and strike out alone. And he had been happy like that. Just him and Karnwyr. 

 A battle raged inside him. 

 _ **You care about her.**   _Said a voice in the back of his head.

_Only as a battle buddy. I'm a hired sellsword. We both are right now. Mercenaries working a job. That's it. We'll both get paid. She'll go off to do her heroic Dragonborn insanity and find that Forsworn Chief she loves and I'll be back to my normal life._

**_Really? Because you could have walked away already. Taken your coin and left._** _ **But instead, you've done nothing but protect and care for her since that first fight with the dragon outside Whiterun. You even dreamed about losing her. You want to be with her.**  _The voice replied.

_I've barely know her, it's been less than a week since we met._

_**Since when does time dictate the deepest desires of our souls, who we like, who we want to be with, who we love?  It doesn't. So, tell me, why does that matter?** _

_Because...because..._

But he was having a hard time arguing with his own heart.


	9. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trek up to High Hrothgar puts Anwen and Bishop in a compromising position. One that heats up the tension already growing between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my efforts to finally finish this chapter, it may not be as polished as previous ones, but it's been a long time since I released one and I wanted to get more of the beginning of the story out, flesh out more of Bishop and Anwen's relationship. Especially since I started another Skyrim Romance playthrough for more inspiration. Which that man does nothing but inspire me...
> 
> As with previous chapters, there a few pieces of colorful language here and there.

"You ready princess?"

"For the love of Akatosh, I told you to stop calling me princess!"

"My apologies, your highness."

"Your apology isn't accepted your lordship."

"Oh, are we going to start playing this little game now princess?"

"Only if you insist on it, my lord."

"Don't call me that, it's creepy."

"Stop calling me princess then!"

"Yeah, but see, princess suits you. I am very far from being any type of 'lord'. "

"Interesting you say so, considering how large your ego is. You'd fit right in with the ones I used to know."

"Whatever you say, princess!"

"By all the Gods, Bishop, I swear..."

"What, you going to hurl a fireball at me? Because, last time I checked, ladyship, both of us are in a rather compromising position that I, frankly, would not like to stay in. So can we just kill this stupid troll and get on with our insane hike up this mountain? Once we're safely at the top, you can yell and throw things at me all you want."

Anwen glared at the dark shape lurking in the shadows about a foot away from her.

It had been a week since their trek into Bleak Falls Barrow, which had ended as well as it had begun, with a big fight against a Draugr Deathlord that left Bishop knocked out and Anwen using her shouting abilities to finish off the kill. Bishop had been nothing but unbearable since then. His ego was clearly a bit bruised by the fact that he'd been taken down and Anwen had been able to withstand and continue fighting....and win. She wasn't sure why. And on top of that, there was an awkwardness between them since the events at Bleak Falls Barrow where Bishop had saved her life and she told him about Cael. Bishop's hostile sarcasm increased as if he was trying to put up some wall, to keep whatever was changing between them, from growing. Anwen could feel the change too, but she didn't understand it either. Still, after they returned the Dragonstone to Farengar, Bishop went with her on the journey to High Hrothgar to see the Greybeards. With an unspoken understanding, they were now companions, for better or worse, and despite his prickly attitude and broody silences, Anwen felt safer knowing he had her back.

Especially when they were about to fight a huge mountain troll.

"Ugh, fine. The sooner we get this done, the better. I'm fucking freezing."

And so a few fireballs, some lightning, and multiple arrows later, a snarling Karnwyr made the final kill, tearing into the mountain troll's throat. It went down with one last, disturbing and rather disgusting, gurgling growl, blood gushing and staining the white snow. As the troll stilled, Bishop drove his dagger into the animal's heart as a precaution.

"Well, that was anti-climatic." He said with a grin from under his thick fur hood, wiping dark blood off the blade before sliding it back into the leather sheath at his hip.

"Were you expecting some epic battle? I'd prefer to keep those at a minimum, thanks." Anwen said, rolling her eyes. 

"Aww, but I thought you enjoyed showing off your freaky voice. You could've just shouted him off the mountain, you know, all dramatic and heroic like."

"Fuck off." Anwen started to continue the walk up the stone steps, past the dead troll. Icy, swirling snow kicked up around her as she took the curve around the massive stone wall they'd been fighting next to. It'd been blocking the wickedness of the wind and now it hit her hard in the face, immediately making her lips go numb. She pulled the piece of thick furry fabric she was using as a mask back up to just below her eyes. They were about halfway up the seven thousand steps she guessed, and it was getting dark fast. "We need to make camp soon ranger." She called back as the wind whistled around them and stole her words out of the air.

They hiked in silence, heads bent against the snowstorm that increased in strength the higher they climbed. Soon the deep blackness of the falling nighttime threatened to consume their already limited vision and the trek became more dangerous. The storm was keeping any moonlight from giving them guidance. Anwen took the lamp attached to her pack and lit it, gesturing to Bishop. "We have to find a place to shelter for the night." She shouted, the wind again trying to drown her out.

Bishop's face was covered up to his eyes like hers, but he nodded, flecks of white in his eyebrows and lashes. He signaled Karnwyr and the wolf took the lead. Bishop motioned Anwen to follow. Sometimes following Karnwyr was the safest choice as he had the ability to sense things before them and see in the dark when they no longer could.

They finally managed to find another outcropping of rock by another bend in the stone steps as it took a steep turn. The rock was high enough to block out most of the wind and yet far enough away from the edge that there was no danger of them slipping in their blindness. When they got closer, Anwen's lamp shone on the entrance to a smaller, hollowed out cave. Just big enough for a person to lay down in. She guessed it'd been created by one of the many pilgrims that took this path each year. There was enough of an overhang to protect them from the snow too. 

Anwen pulled out their tent and her bedroll as Bishop began to start a small fire in an area that looked like it'd seen previous ones. His way of getting a fire going even when wood was scarce was impressive. Anwen went to work putting together the tent next to the overhang. She kept the back end against the rockwall and then proceeded to collapse in a cross legged sitting position at the entrance, armor digging into her thighs, feeling the cold ground seeping into the fur and leather that was her only barrier against it. Front flaps tied slightly to the side, she wrapped herself up in another fur and watched Bishop through the opening as he tried to get the fire hot enough to heat up some water.

And again, as many nights before, they sat eating and drinking, in complete silence, not looking at each other. 

I'm too cold to even care anymore, Anwen thought as she stole at glance at Bishop. He, too, was wrapped up in a fur, his hood still up and covering his face so that his profile was hidden to her. Still, it appeared he was staring into the fire as he drank his tea and whiskey and hadn't tried to sit with her in the tent entrance. Not that she'd expected him too. It was like he'd done a complete 180 degree turn in his attitude towards her after Bleak Falls Barrow. In her conversation with him after she'd woken up, telling him about Cael, he'd been such a different man. Gentle, concerned, caring, loving even. Things that she didn't even know he was capable of feeling with her. In those moments they hadn't been just battle buddies, they were something like friends, as if Bishop actually gave a fuck about her. Then she wakes up, they venture into that Nordic hellhole and it was like the first night she'd met him all over again. The freaking mood swings were driving her crazy. He was like an overprotective bear. Gruff, sharp claws, really to jump in front of a blade for her, only to turn around and swipe at her face for daring to be near him.

He's lucky he's useful and easy on the eyes, she thought, taking another sip of her own tea, alcohol free, and beginning to wish she'd asked for a shot of whiskey for herself. She'd noticed the bottle tucked away that he pulled out once in awhile. Usually when he seemed agitated. Which, to be fair, was most of the time.

"Something on your mind ladyship?"

His voice traveled back to her with the sound of wood popping. A few orange sparks flew up into the shadows of the ebony shaded night. How the hell did he know she was thinking about him? He couldn't even see her face.

"Nothing concerning you." She lied, taking another drink of the hot liquid, gloved hands gripping the warm mug in an effort to pull the heat into her skin. It was the only thing that was keeping her teeth from chattering. Bishop, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable and not even remotely cold.

"I can feel your eyes on my back."

"You're sitting in front of me. Shall I close them so you're no longer in my vision? My apologies for looking forward ranger."

To her surprise, Bishop got up and dragged his bedroll next to hers, so that they were now both completely under the tent opening. He sat back down. It wasn't a large opening and so they couldn't help but be pressed into each other where her shoulder met the hardness of the muscles that were the biceps on his upper left arm. Even through all the layers she was wearing, Anwen could feel them. The man was just built. Against her wishes, Anwen thought that the presence of him, his body so close, so tall and strong, so _big_ , and able to completely cover her own smaller frame, was a comfort in this frigid hell of place. Wait, what in Oblivion, she thought, why am I thinking about his body covering mine?

She shook her head. No, she just needed him as her backup as she didn't think she could have done this trip on her own. His strength, his height was important to her in that aspect only. Skyrim still held such a foreign feel for her and Bishop's experience as a ranger, along with his skills in survival had been imperative to their success so far.

Cael was the man she wanted. He was just as sexy as Bishop. 

 _Stop it woman!_ Anwen told herself. _Bishop is NOT sexy. He's annoying and arrogant._

"Is that better princess?" The deep, gravelly voice broke through the argument she was having in her head. Anwen could hear the smirk even though she couldn't see it.

 _Aaannnnd immediately the desire is gone._ Anwen rolled her eyes. Gods preserve me. Before this is over, he's going to be the death of my sanity, she thought _. A few moments of closeness in Bleak Falls Barrow does make up for him being an asshole the rest of the time._

"Am I talking to myself now?" Again, Bishop's voice cut into her thoughts, the typical amusement he seemed to reserve just for her, obvious in his voice.

Anwen tilted her head enough to shoot him an exasperated look. "Whatever." She pulled her knees up against her chest to try and get warmer but her leather armor was just restricting enough that it was impossible. Sighing and putting her empty cup to the side, she slid the fur tighter over her arms and up to cover her face, trying to close the gap of chilled air sitting between the front of the blanket and her upper body.

Bishop laughed. She looked over at him, annoyed. "What's so funny now? Does everything I do entertain you that much?"

"Is the cold bothering _you that much_? Is a snowstorm too much for a little noble girl?"

It was almost mean, the way his words came out. Anwen couldn't understand where the continued hostility was coming from.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to not be an ass every once in awhile." She snapped. " _So_ sorry I don't have the body of a draugr that can withstand all forms of frozen elements." 

"Well, princess, I could try to be nicer, but I'm not feeling it. See, this is a big part of who I am. And important to my overall charm." Bishop stretched out his long legs, leaning back on his elbows as if they were lounging in the sun. "Besides, didn't I save your life not too long ago? I don't recall you calling me an ass back then."

Anwen went quiet. She didn't like thinking about the incident in Bleak Falls Barrow. Or that horrible fever and the nightmares that came with it. Nightmares of that terrible black dragon. Her stomach knotted.

She was completely healed now. Once the fever broke, and she'd slept some more, her body and mind were fine. Actually, better than fine. Somehow she woke up stronger, with an odd sensation in her chest that hadn't existed before. Whatever the fever was, Anwen knew it related to her being Dragonborn. Something was alive inside her blood now, bound to her lungs, her very breath. And the power it was bringing was almost overwhelming at times, if she thought about it too much.

"So, what is this? The silent treatment now?" Bishop was still talking.

"What, in Oblivion, do you want from me? I told you thank you." Anwen's retort was sharp, but in truth, she was trying to cover how awkward his words were making her. Did he really want to get into this? She was under the impression he'd been doing everything he could to avoid the subject after all the nights they spent in utter silence since then. And she could still remember the look on his face when she'd first awoken in that horrible ruin. Something like fear or even terror. A very strange thing to see on Bishop's rugged features. And the absolute opposite of the look on his face now.

"Oh, your lovable companionship is enough, princess." Again there was mocking in his words.

_Oh for fuck's sake._

"I'm going to try and sleep. You can entertain yourself with your own stupid jokes and keep watch. It's your turn to go first anyway." Anwen stood up, pushing her bedroll back farther into the tent. The leather and fur covering gave more protection from wind and snow, but nothing could be done about the cold that continued to fight it's way inside and that she was noticing again, now that thoughts of being attracted to Bishop were no longer distracting her from reality.

She took a small jar out of her pack and sent a magical ball of fire to rest inside. With the lid closed, it emitted a small amount of warmth and so, Anwen kept it near. It was a trick she'd learned as a mage. The ability to transfer fire and continue an underlying pull of magicka to power it. Laying down, curled up in a ball, now shivering from cold, despite the layers she was wearing, she noticed Bishop had become quiet himself, the sudden broodiness emanating off of him like a wave of unexpected heat.

Gods, if only it _were_ heat. She would do anything to be in an inn right now, next to a fire, with a bottle of wine, even listening to that damn "Ragnar the Red" song for the 100th time.

But, nope she had to have some fucking destiny to follow. Ugh.

_Fuck my life._

She was completely uncomfortable. The bedroll and layers of fur and leather did little to cushion the hardness of the iced ground and there was nothing worse than sleeping in full armor. Making sure her daggers were within reach, she closed her eyes, trying everything she could to block out the frigid air and irritating ranger that sat in front of her.

It didn't work.

Slowly, like icy fingers trailing up her skin, the intense cold began to seep into her bones, the heat from the little jar of fire doing nothing to abate it. Anwen wondered how and why someone would make this trip up the seven thousand steps of their own volition. Never had she experienced such intense arctic weather, but also never had she journeyed up the highest mountain in Tamriel. Her body began to shake as her shivering became more violent.

And it didn't go unnoticed by Bishop.

Anwen never knew how much time passed or when Bishop came to her, she only knew what happened next.

"Ladyship." She heard him through the haze of her misery, in a voice tight with emotion, hoarse with worry. That was enough to make her eyes snap open, her teeth beginning to chatter uncontrollably. And then Anwen felt a heat encircle her. Maybe she'd fallen asleep after all and her shivering woke her up. And she was, _naked?_   Every top and bottom piece of her leather armor had been removed. She was only wearing the undergarments that covered her breasts and lower body, with thick socks still on her feet. Apparently, he'd kept her as modest as he could. And now, he was holding her tight against his own bare chest, her lower body wrapped between the strength of thick, naked thighs.

"Ar-ar-are y-y-you c-c-cr-a-crazy?" She managed to say, confused at what was going on, her body shaking violently.

"Just trust me."

Bishop crushed her body into his, tucking her head under his chin and into his chest. Legs around her own, his breath was hot on her neck as he buried his face in it, snuggling her. Wrapping them both in his fur, he pulled her into somewhat of a sitting position, as far back into the tent as they could go. The flaps were down now. They might as well been cuddling, the position was so intimate.

"B-b-b-ut wh-what a-a-ab-out th-the wo-wo-wolves? B-b-bears." Anwen chattered, barely able to get the words out.

"Don't worry about that. Karnwyr knows what to do should anything appear. He's smarter than you think princess."

She faded into him, the heat of his skin searing the ice that had numbed hers. Somehow his body radiated a heat that even the vicious weather on this mountain couldn't steal away. Mentally, she grabbed onto this thought, like an anchor, drinking him in with every breath as her limbs were so stiff she could only rely Bishop to be able to move her. Her brain felt drugged.

"Don't fall asleep." Bishop said sharply, shaking her a little. Anwen had closed her eyes again, the soothing comfort of sleep surrounding her like a dark blanket, beckoning her to get lost in it.

"B-but I'm s-s-so tired." She muttered.

"No." Bishop shook her again, "Talk to me ladyship. Tell me about your family, where you're from. What's High Rock like."

"It s-s-sucks." She murmured.

"Anwen!" Bishop shouted right in her ear.

"Oww!! Okay, okay!" She said, forcing her eyes open. "Y-you d-d-don't have t-t-to y-ell."

"Then listen to me, dammit. Stay awake."

"I'm awake, I'm awake." And with all her strength, Anwen pushed herself to take control and clear the fuzziness out of her brain. And not knowing how she knew to do it, she focused on the sensation in her lungs and awoke it, trying to use the power to snap her body into responding to her brain again. To take the heat Bishop was trying to give her.

_I am the Dragonborn. Akatosh preserve me._

And her teeth stopped chattering, her shivering slowed. Molten warmth began to spread from her heart, like it was in her blood. Her breathing became normal.

"I think I've had enough near death experiences to last me three lifetimes." She said after a couple of minutes, her face still up against his chest. Her lips brushed across his skin with every word. Bishop must have felt it because his muscles twitched and he took a slow, deep breath. "Although freezing to death may be the more comfortable way to go, at the very end at least."

"That's not funny." Bishop sounded suddenly angry.

"I didn't say it was!" He still was holding her pressed into him, and hadn't loosened his grip even as her body began to lose the unnatural stiffness triggered by the hypothermia.

Minutes passes, or maybe it was an hour, Anwen didn't know. It was unexpectedly easy, and comfortable, to be with him this way and neither spoke as Anwen's body returned to it's normal temperature. At one point, she closed her eyes to rest. Bishop appeared satisfied she was no longer in danger from falling asleep and freezing to death, and didn't push her to talk.

Without thinking, Anwen slid her arms around him, his muscles tight beneath her touch, allowing her chest to meet his directly. There was a soft intake of breath, but Bishop responded to her actions, his own long arms firmly around her, his right hand sliding down to rest on the bareness of her lower back. 

It was incredibly sensual.

And as her body continued to be heated by his, now by more than just a physical need to stay warm, Anwen realized how much it was affecting her.

Yet, it feels right, natural, she thought, the shock of this truth stealing across her mind, which was clear again. 

_I should pull away. No, I can't let go. It's too cold. And....I...don't want to._

Anwen sensed she wasn't the only one thinking this. Somehow, she knew Bishop was feeling the same. Afraid to move anymore, for fear of what she might do with these feelings growing inside, she continued to hold herself in his arms, unsure of what was happening. And not knowing where it was going or where she wanted it to.

It was obvious Bishop could feel the trembling of her body, aware it wasn't from cold any longer. No, it was a longing, a need, an attraction that wanted to consume her. 

Anwen raised her head, about to finally say something, and immediately felt Bishop lean into her hair.

"Sweetness." He breathed into her ear, the tickling sensation sending shivers down her spine, goosebumps raising on her skin. She immediately forgot everything else. His voice was laced with desire, the intensity of it dripping into her flesh. She gasped as his teeth grazed her earlobe before he dragged his mouth across her neck. Like honeyed whiskey, it lit a fire in the pit of her stomach, that began in her throat and ended in a tingling sensation between her legs.

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. The jade color was flecked with gold, burning embers, smoldering, and threatening to burst into flame. She bit her lip as Bishop's parted, his chest rising against hers, heart beating faster, their mouths inching closer, wet and warm.

"Bishop..." Just a whisper escaped before her eyes began to close.

Bishop ran his fingers across her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair, her name catching in his throat as he moved his mouth to meet hers.

And it was at that moment, from outside, with a sudden gust of wind smacking hard against the tent, that they heard Karnwyr howl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a bit short. I wanted to set up more growing sexual tension, while going forward more in the Dragonborn storyline, without simply repeating all the vanilla game content (which is boring as I'm assuming anyone reading my story has played Skyrim once or twice and so, is aware of the questline). 
> 
> I'm almost finished Chapter 10, which is much longer.


	10. Leave A Trace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Anwen and Bishop are off to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. However, even a skilled ranger like Bishop can leave enough behind to be tracked. By someone he never expected to meet.  
> Plus, dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been alternating between Anwen and Bishops' POV and this chapter would normally be Bishop's, but because of where I take it, it has to be Anwen.

_Well, that really hadn't gone how I wanted it to. At all. Not even remotely. I mean, did everything in my life have to be a complicated mess mixed in with relationship drama? Had it really been a good idea that I kept Bishop as a companion? Well, he **had**  stopped me from freezing to death... Must be a Nord thing, like some natural immunity to ice and snow... but seriously, that was embarrassing. I'm the fucking Dragonborn and yet, somehow, I still keeps ending up in these ridiculous scenarios. Well, hopefully it's a learning curve. Honing any skill is always wrought with pain and hardship, to be fair. It's not like my bowmanship or ability to throw fire was simple to master...still, ENOUGH with the life or death situations where some guy has to rescue me. Skyrim is like one big country full of dangerous paths where at any moment you might end up bleeding to death. Gods. And then what happened with Bishop. We almost kissed! I'm an idiot. Thank god for random, dangerous bear encounters. Otherwise who knows what would have happened. Something I would have regretted later. The appearance of bears saved me from doing something stupid, ironically. Which that had been extremely entertaining as Bishop ran out wearing only-_

"LADYSHIP!"

"WHAT?" Anwen snapped, a bit louder than she meant to.

"Are you alright? You've been staring at me, making some really odd faces."

She realized he was right. He was across from her and she had her eyes directly on him, while completely spacing out. "Oh. Sorry. Lost in thought."

"Thoughts of me?"

"Shut _UP_ Bishop."

"And...that's a yes." The rugged ranger took a swig from the thick, burnished metal mug in his hand, and grinned.

Anwen scowled.

_I swear this is becoming our standard behavior together._

Both, the annoyed Breton, and the infuriating Nord, had finally made it down from High Hrothgar and were currently at a table inside Vilemyr Inn. The wood and stone structure was a comfortable, homey place sitting at the bottom of the mountain, in the quaint town of Ivarstead. Though both were exhausted, the journey back down that brutal rock was much easier than the initial ascent, because the Greybeards had given Anwen a way to travel back and forth from there by magic. The scrolls were now tucked away safely in her pack. Since it was definite she had to go back there again. Because now, to prove herself to a group of old men with knots in their beards, she was required to pass some test by finding a damn horn. A horn. Apparently sitting somewhere in the back of another old Nordic ruin full of fucking draugr. Oh, joy.

I've been spending far to much time around Bishop, she thought, realizing how sarcastic her thoughts were becoming. She took a long, soothing sip of mulled wine, appreciating more than ever how warming it was. The heat and smell of spices were a treasure to soak in after the harrowing trek they'd made up the seven thousand steps.

Set back in a shadowy corner, their table gave a good view of the entire room, which was relatively full. Though Anwen had her back to most of it, it was turning into a relaxing, late evening with the locals and some guards. The innkeeper, Wilhelm, kept his guests's cups filled with drink. He also kindly let Bishop bring Karnwyr in, as long as all three sat in the far back and the white wolf stayed hidden, so as not to startle any of his guests.

Having had experienced the wildness of the country that made up most of Skyrim, Anwen was surprised that people could be so uptight about a tame wolf. I mean, it's not like Bishop was asking to bring in a troll.

"So, where are we headed off to now princess?" 

She sighed. "I give up on getting you to stop calling me that." 

Bishop laughed. And for once, it didn't sound sarcastic. Then again, he was at the end of his third pint, he was drinking fast, and both of them had chosen not to eat any dinner. The whole trip to see the Greybeards had been so stressful that Anwen immediately agreed to Bishop's flippant comment about drowning the place in wine. So, here they were. Drowning the place in, well, more than just wine.

"I'm not going to stop ladyship. You're stuck with it. It suits you and I've grown rather fond of using it." She met his eyes and saw a twinkle in them. He was smiling at her as he took another swig from his mug.

_Ok, this is super weird. He never smiles at me like that._

Unsure of how to respond, she turned around in her seat, towards the merry inn patrons who were lost in talk and laughter. A bard played a flute in the corner. Overall, it was a very pleasant atmosphere, giving her a sense of calm, of being normal. She was trying to forget about the moment she shared with Bishop up on the mountain. And considering how hazy that part of the trip was, it wasn't too hard. Until he looked at her like that. And then it brought back the desire, the emotions, the need she'd experienced for him in a matter of seconds. The overwhelmingly intense sexual attraction. She took a deep breath, pushing the memory out of her head.

"We're going to another Nordic ruin, I told you that ranger." She said, taking another sip of wine and staring out into the huge fireplace in the middle of the room. It crackled cheerily, adding to the comfortable din.

"Yes, I know that. I meant which one and where. As I recall, you hired me originally to guide you. So that requires I know, where in Oblivion, we're going."

"Well, we're not going anywhere near Oblivion." Anwen said flippantly, taking in more drink, her eyes still on the fire.

Bishop snorted, his chair creaking as he sat back. "Wow, that was probably the lamest joke I've heard you make yet." 

"Because yours are so freaking clever?" She scoffed, turning back around to glare at him over her cup.

"That is never in question princess." He said airly, leaning back in his seat.

"Yeah, so, ANYWAY...."

"Yes, do continue ladyship."

Anwen sighed again. "Why do you insist on constantly being a pain in my ass?"

"Well, I have to follow it on a daily basis now. Since I'm not doing other things with it, despite how cute it is..." Bishop shot her a flirty grin.

She rolled her eyes. "Wow, Bishop, just wow."

"Hey, you asked." He smirked and drained his mug with unnecessary flourish.

"Yeah, that's not exactly what I was asking and you know it."

***CRASH***

Anwen started. The sound had come from behind her, like someone had smashed a heavy, metal object onto the wooden floor.

Breaking her gaze from Bishop, Anwen turned to look. The music from the flute, and the voices around her, were vanishing like someone had just shut off all sound. However, two male voices rose in volume. There was something happening on the opposite end of the room.

"She's not interested in you, Klimmek." An angry, red-faced, ginger haired man was almost nose to nose with another, a bald headed Nord, who looked slightly drunk and ready to swing.

"I don't think that's YOUR decision to make to Bassianus." He hissed.

A dark haired man in a guard uniform approached them both. "Gentlemen, please. This is not the place for this. Start a fight and I'll haul you both off to jail."

"It doesn't matter, Fastred is leaving with me."

"Like hell she is. By Talos, I'll kill you before that happens." The man called Klimmek reached for the axe at his waist.

"STOP IT!" Shrieked a young woman in a simple peasant dress, her pale brown hair tied up in a bun. Anwen chanced a guess that she was the woman they were arguing over.

Klimmek looked over at her and the other guy, Bassianus, took that opportunity to punch him. Klimmek staggered, dropping his weapon, and then launched himself at Bassianus, knocking into the table behind them. The man and woman sitting there jumped up with a yell as their drinks and food went everywhere.

"Well, hot fucking damn. A lot of drama for such a small place." Bishop murmured. Anwen glanced at him. He was watching the fight with an amused expression on his face.

Anwen looked back to where the two men were now rolling around on the floor, both the guard and the innkeeper trying to pull them apart. And the girl, Fastred, was crying, an older woman's arms around her shoulder.

"Do you women like being fought over?"

Bishop's question took her by surprise. Sliding back around in her seat, she gave him a dirty look.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, I am." He said, crossing his arms. "Do women enjoy being fought over? Having someone so desperate to be with you that they'd punch the first man who tried to steal you away? Do. You. Like. It."  Bishop's voice wasn't full of malice or irritation, more like somewhere between being a smart ass and actual curiosity. 

"That is a ridiculous thing to ask. Of course, we don't. I mean, does she look like she's enjoying it?" Anwen motioned with her thumb at the girl still crying. "I know I don't. All the anger and jealousy? Not to mention being stuck in the middle of all that testosterone. Plus, in the end, someone always gets hurt." 

Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like you know this from experience, princess."

"Well, if I did, I wouldn't tell you." She said loftily, placing her empty cup onto the table and reaching for the bottle nearby.

"I wasn't asking for the details."

Anwen raised her eyebrows. "Sure you weren't ranger." She poured more wine into her cup and brought it up to her mouth.

Arms still crossed, Bishop looked annoyed. He turned his gaze away, back to the scene on the side of the room. "Do I look like I want to know about you and your relationships with other men?"

_Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd say he's jealous._

Anwen smirked. "Actually, yes, yes you do."

Bishop glowered at her. "Whatever you want to tell yourself, princess." He was suddenly very interested in inspecting his empty mug. "So, you were telling me where we were headed to next." 

Anwen couldn't resist, she grinned at him slyly instead of answering.

Behind them, another guard had entered the inn and was helping drag the two men, now both bloody and bruised, outside, presumably to jail. Fastred and her mother were following.

"What?" Bishop said testily.

"Absolutely nothing." But she kept smiling, enjoying the fact that for once she was goading him.

"Whatever princess." He retorted, jumping up and heading towards the bar. 

Anwen started to giggle. "And it's Ustengrav." She called to his retreating back.

But all she heard was a grunt as he stomped away.

* * *

She and Bishop set out from Ivarstead the next day to begin the journey to Ustengrav. The previous evening, after his fifth pint of ale calmed him from acting so broody, Bishop consulted their map and suggested they walk to Riften and take a carriage out to Morthal, the closest town to the Nordic ruins. Technically they were backtracking, but ultimately it would take the same amount of time, while giving their feet some rest. So they decided to get some sleep and head out early the following morning. Riften was less than a day's travel from Ivarstead.

After that, Anwen, exhausted from their adventures so far, had headed to bed. It was so nice to sleep in an actual bed, instead of her bedroll on the hard ground. She passed out quickly, having bade Bishop, who was still drinking and on his way to becoming drunk, a good night. The evening had been enjoyable enough, she thought sleepily, as the soothing loss of awareness that sleep brought began to cloud her brain, although it did help that Bishop relaxed with each mug of mead he finished off, leaving him less abrasive than normal. The sarcasm always stuck around though.

Yet, when she finally slept, it was not peaceful. The dreams weren't terrifying, just a combination of confusing circumstances involving a black dragon, Cael, and Bishop and for once, no bandits. The feeling in her stomach when she woke left her troubled, as if she could sense some type of impending doom looming over them all. And nothing, not even the hot coffee a hungover, grumpy Bishop handed her when she sat beside him, was able to lighten the weight of anxiety forming in her chest. A chest already heavy with her new power. And when her mind followed that path, it brought with it the reminder that she was born with the soul of a dragon. Or was she given the soul of a dragon afterwards?  Why her, why would Akatosh choose her? Somehow, Anwen knew there was no actual answer to this, but nothing was weirder than realizing or at least trying to believe, that you were a mortal being walking around with the soul of a freaking dragon inside you, especially when you'd been told your whole life that they were all dead. Oh, and, by the way? A god gave it to you. As a blessing. To fulfill your destiny. You could believe in gods and never once experience any proof that they existed, yet here she was. And the concept of souls was a very abstract thing to begin with, despite all her study of them with magic. And now, as Bishop very eloquently liked to put it, hers was a soul of a "giant, winged lizard". She liked dragon better, or just Dovahkiin, at least that sounded elegant and not as if she was a monster in human form.

She sighed audibly. It was going to be one of those days, when the world felt unbalanced, the air murky with unease, her emotions on edge. Like a waking dream on the brink of a nightmare. Those days sucked.

There was a cold nose and wet tongue that suddenly touched against her fingertips, startling her out of these upsetting thoughts. She looked down to see Karnwyr, walking beside her, and knew he was giving her reassurance in the way only an animal can. Looking up at her with big golden eyes, he nudged her hand as if to say he was there to help keep her safe.

What an intelligent, fascinating creature he is, she thought. That unconditional love was as comforting as a warm hug. Somehow he'd quickly become her companion as much as Bishop. She gave his head a brush with her gloved hand, trying to convey gratitude. Karnwyr appeared to understand.

"What's wrong ladyship?"

Bishop was behind them, he'd told Anwen to follow this road until they came to a fork by a bridge. He, for some reason, wanted to stay in the back, leaving Karnywyr at Anwen's side.

"Uh, nothing? Why?" She called back to him.

"Well, Karnwyr doesn't just go around licking people's hands without cause. It's a sign that he knows something is bothering you."

"You two are far too smart for your own good, you know that?"

"So, there is something wrong."

"It's none of your business ranger and it doesn't concern you. So, leave it be."

"Okay, okay. My apologies for caring, princess." The tone of mock surrender did not amuse her. She chose to ignore him.

_Gods, maybe his broodiness is rubbing off on me. That's a disturbing thought._

And so they walked on in silence. And walked. And walked. It wasn't until they stopped for a midday rest under a few trees, that either of them spoke again.

"You know pretending that it didn't happen isn't going to undo the fact that it did." Bishop said casually.

"What?" Anwen said sharply, pausing in her act of pulling out a wrapped loaf of bread from her pack.

"I think we both know exactly what I'm talking about ladyship." He watched her from over the top of the round, metal flask he was sipping water from.

"Bishop, I-" But whatever she was going to say was forgotten because at that moment, multiple things happened at once.

Karnwyr growled, hackles raised, immediately going into an attack stance as he looked somewhere behind his master.

Anwen's skin prickled, the power settled in her lungs traveling into her limbs, instinct telling her to get a weapon. Now.

Bishop jumped up, pieces of bark crumbling off the dead log that had been his seat. Dropping everything else and grabbing his bow and quiver of arrows.

Something was coming.

They weren't that far into the forest, the stone roadway was still visible from where they stood. Even the farm across the way was in their line of vision. And there was nothing else anywhere in sight. Anwen squinted, looking up into the dappled sunlight shining lazily through thick, leafy trees. But all she saw were patches of blue and white. Up till now it had been a quiet day. Light wind, warm sun. She wasn't even wearing a hooded cloak.

However, the alert angle of Karnwyr's ears told them he could hear something they couldn't.

But that changed quickly when the sound that reached Anwen's ears sent her heart into her throat.

It wasn't the screams in the nearby field from the farmers, as they scrambled towards surrounding buildings. It was the sounds that caused them all to cry what Anwen already knew.

"BY THE GODS, IT'S A DRAGON!"

She tightened the grip on her bow, glad for the amount of arrows still across her back.

"SERIOUSLY, ARE THEY STALKING YOU NOW??" Bishop shouted, a small hint of fear in his voice as the roars grew louder. 

"HOW SHOULD I FUCKING KNOW?" Anwen shouted back, looking up again as a huge shadow and great whoosh of wings passed overhead, the dragon now circling above the trees. It spate a huge ball of fire at the fleeing, shrieking farmers, just missing them, and leaving scorch marks on the stone wall of the wheat mill.

Anwen began to run out towards the farm. She had to distract the thing from those farmers.

"WHAT IN OBLIVION! ANWEN! GET BACK HERE!" But she ignored Bishop. It was her job to kill these creatures. And be damned if anyone else would die for that.

It worked. The minute she exposed herself on the roadway, the dragon headed straight for her. Nocking an arrow, she drew back and sent it straight at the dragon's massive wings. They had to do something to get it to land. Maybe damaging the wings was a start. 

She managed to get off three arrows before the beast dive bombed her with a blast of fire. Ducking left, she rolled out the way, but just barely in time, the heat from the dragon fire hot on the back of her neck. Finding herself miraculously behind a large boulder, she watched as the dragon flew off to circle back around. Bishop took this moment to run to her side as she stood up, brushing herself off and picking up the bow she'd tossed gently into the grass before her dive to safety. 

"Would you stop," Bishop was breathing hard, "running off," he also sounded very annoyed, "every time," now he was raising his voice, "A BLASTED DRAGON APPEARS? SO THAT MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, I CAN HELP YOU NOT GET KILLED, YOU INSANE WOMAN!!!"

There wasn't much time to argue, the dragon was flying back. Fast.

"FINE." Anwen shot back. "Do you have some sort of plan?"

"Not a plan so much as a desperate attempt to survive this encounter."

"Well, feel free to share it at any time, ranger!" She glanced nervously at the sky. They were about out of time.

"Let me draw it off of you and then you can use your freaky voice thing on it to catch it off guard. Then maybe we can flank it somehow, confuse it, and you can do your Dragonborn stuff."

"Would you knock it off with the freaky voice comments. It's called shouting."

"Whatever. It's the best chance we have, so just do it!"

And before she could say anything else, Bishop took off, with Karnwyr at his heel. 

"DAMN YOU BISHOP! AND YOU SAY I'M THE STUBBORN ONE!" She yelled. His only response was to frantically motion for her to hide.

Anwen crouched quickly back behind the rock.

The dragon dropped from the sky, hovering, wings flapping and stirring up a wind that blew the hair off Anwen's forehead and made the tree branches sway. She was on edge, and terrified, watching Bishop dodge and evade the enormous creature's tail and mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It was trying to get a clear shot for an attack; but, Bishop was, to her surprise, extremely limber. If the whole situation wasn't life and death, Anwen might have a taken a moment to admire this. But then she saw her chance and jumped up. The dragon, in it's frustration to reach Bishop, had landed.

The force of the landing shook the ground so violently that Anwen stumbled and barely caught herself from falling as she attempted to get back on her feet. In a partially crouched position, she began to sneak up behind the dragon, and yet, somehow avoid the long, thick tail that could easily knock her into the air and crush her bones. 

A horrible screeching sound hit her ears as the dragon spat a ball of flame into the trees Bishop had darted behind. Anwen held her breath, expecting something to catch fire, but the few smoldering embers burnt out quickly.

She'd learned a new shout in Bleak Falls Barrow. From something referred to as a word wall, left behind by the old Nords. It allowed her to breathe ice onto an enemy. 

By Akatosh, I've never tried using frost breath, she thought nervously, but as she watched the dragon continue to spit orange flame in frustration, with Karnwyr dancing around a leg, biting and scratching, in an attempt to keep the dragon confused, Anwen knew she had no choice but to gather her courage and try. Before something caught on fire. Before someone was killed.

It was much easier to charge unthinking into a battle.

But also much stupider.

She'd reached the dragon's side. The massive body, covered in a colorful combination of blue, purple, and green scales blocked the road; the heavy tail, swinging out powerfully; the end of it, blunt, but dangerously violent in movement. Bishop appeared suddenly out of nowhere and whistled for Karnwyr to retreat.

He was sweaty, covered in black soot, with a small burn on his cheek, breath coming in gasps as he bent over trying to catch it.

"Whatever you're gonna do ladyship," he managed to say. "Do it now."

"Get back." Anwen ordered, determination steeling her voice. Bishop nodded and signaled Karnwyr, both falling back into the trees.

Anwen put her bow on her back, her quiver still strapped tight.

 _Gods preserve me and give me strength._ She prayed, taking a defensive stance while preparing to shout. The dragon was sensing something had changed and was beginning to move. It was now or never.

Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Anwen drew her focus to the power, resonating even louder now, in her lungs.

**"FO KRAH DIIN!"**

Stumbling back, she thought for one split second her heart had frozen solid too, the white mist leaving her mouth with the force of a blizzard wind. But then her body was warm again and the power of her Thu'um hit the dragon's side, immediately causing it to roar as scales were covered in a sheet of ice.

_Maybe fire dragons are especially sensitive to frost and ice._

***THUMP* *THUMP* THUMP***

Anwen backed away quickly, her bow in her hands, raising it and nocking an arrow. The dragon turned to face her head-on.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

_By the Gods, it's talking to me...._

_Shit._

The deep, rasping voice spoke again.

"SUCH ARROGANCE! TO THINK YOU ARE A TRUE DOVAH!"

_This is just getting weirder and more terrifying. A FUCKING DRAGON is talking to me...._

She couldn't shout again. It seemed her powers were not limitless as she felt drained, almost like they needed to recharge. The dragon was inching closer, the ground shaking with each movement.

_You are the Dragonborn. You know what you need to do. So do it._

Anwen drew back. It was a small chance but she had to take it.

"THE EYES!" She yelled, hoping Bishop heard and understood. "GO RIGHT!"

A tiny target on a moving beast, but she released her arrow and, miraculously, it found it's mark at the same time that Bishop's arrow did. Both in the dragon's eyes.

As the dragon screeched and roared in pain, fire escaping it's mouth in a haphazard dangerous fashion, Anwen rolled to her right under the dragon's long neck, but far enough to avoid the moving feet. Then she was back on her feet, on the opposite side of the wounded dragon, who was now blinded. If the beast weren't trying to kill her and everyone else in Skyrim, Anwen might have felt sympathy for the suffering it was enduring. But she couldn't think like that.

She took a running leap and gracefully jumped onto the dragon's back. Still, it was painful, the way her body slammed into the tough scaly hide as she grappled to keep her grip. Somehow, this dragon seemed bigger than the one in Whiterun.

At first, it didn't seem to notice she was there. It was thrashing around, as if attempting to shake off the objects penetrating it's eyes, which made her attempts to climb up the beast's neck, a challenge. 

_You can do it, don't let go, don't let go. DON'T LET GO._

Anwen made a desperate grab for the horns on top of the dragon's head, just out of her reach.

Stretching her arm farther than she thought possible, Anwen managed to wrap her fingers around the largest horn and with a groan, pull herself up into a more stable position. With her left arm holding as tight as she could, fighting against the dragon's continuous movement, she raised her right hand and brought the ebony dagger down as hard as she could, praying that it would cut through dragonscale and bone. There was no sword for her to use this time.

_Maybe that's something I should invest in..._

Once. Twice. Three times she stabbed into the scales. The dragon roaring, jerking it's head back and forth in an effort to throw her off, but Anwen hung on. The dagger cut deeper each time until on the sixth or seventh thrust, it hit soft tissue; and with a few more hard blows, Anwen felt the dragon weaken and then finally collapse.

"Dovahkiin." It was the last thing the dragon breathed before it fell, heavily, onto the stone roadway. In her relief and utter exhaustion, her whole body throbbing, Anwen loosened her grip on the horns and when the rushing, crackling wind that said she was absorbing the dead dragon's soul came at her, it knocked her completely off balance.

***CRACK***

The sharp pain where forehead met rock stunned her, stars around the edges of her blurred vision. She was still laying face down, feeling the last vestiges of power soak into her being, the warm trickle of blood on her face, when the sound of Bishop's footsteps appeared next where she lay.

"Anwen, are you alright? Are you alive? SPEAK TO ME!"

"Please don't yell." She mumbled, flinching as she tried to sit up, her arms heavy, leaden. But Bishop had other ideas. Next thing she knew, he was on the ground and she was sitting between his legs, her head and back against his shoulder, which wasn't super comfortable as there were buckles on his armor there.

"Bishop, what-" She squirmed in his tight grip on her.

"Do you always have to argue with me, ladyship? Just hold still." Dazed from her head smacking the stone, Anwen gave in to the fatigue and let Bishop clean and bind her wound. He dripped something on the open wound that stung like hell, but the bleeding stopped in a matter of seconds.

"What was that?" She muttered, eyes closed. 

Bishop chuckled, pulling a small bottle out of his little side pouch, while putting the one he'd just used back in. "Something of my own design, sweetness. Now, here, drink this. Healing potion."

He brought the clear bottle with a slightly bubbly pink liquid to her lips and she took it all in one gulp. Within a minute her mind cleared, the pain in her head lessened, and she felt some strength returning to her aching and bruised body. But, Anwen stayed still, soaking in the moment. Once more, she'd found herself in Bishop's arms and again, it was so naturally comfortable she didn't want to move. She tilted her face upwards and was startled to see him looking down at her. And there was a fire, a heat just behind the concern shadowed in his eyes. He tenderly pushed strands of hair off her sweaty face, Anwen's breath catching in her throat at the lightness of his touch.

"Is it really over?"

A strange female voice broke the moment. The farmers from the nearby homestead had ventured over to look, terrified and amazed, at the dragon now lying dead in front of their land.

Feeling embarrassed, as if they'd been caught in an intimate embrace, Anwen quickly moved to stand up and put space between her and Bishop.

"Yes, it is." She said with a small smile.

"Never, in all my days...." An older, grey haired man muttered, looking from Anwen to the dragon and then back again to stare at Anwen.

"You-you killed it." Said a timid child's voice. He was standing behind his mother, clutching her skirts, but his big brown eyes were alight with awe and wonder as he gazed at her.

To add to the gathering crowd, a group of guards came rushing up, weapons drawn, faces covered in shock. "By all the gods, what-what happened here?" asked the largest one leading the group, gaping at the dragon corpse.

As the farmers started talking all at once, Anwen felt Bishop's hand around hers. "C'mon, ladyship, let's go." He murmured in her ear. "We don't need to stay here like you're some kind of show to be watched, or have guards drag us somewhere to answer questions."

Wordlessly, Anwen let Bishop lead her away from the crowd. With all the confusion, they managed to escape without notice, farther into the trees and back to where they'd been sitting before, all their supplies and belongings waiting to be picked up.

They walked for awhile, Bishop, for unknown reasons, insisting on holding her hand. Anwen was too tired to ask where they were going or ask herself why she was letting him lead her in such a way.

"You know, we're not so good at this." He remarked at random.

"Good at what?" 

"Dragon slaying. How either of us lived through that, I'm not quite sure. Although, I admit, we make a good team." Bishop gave her a glance. The burn on his face looked so painful, but still, he was smiling.

Anwen chuckled. He was right. "Well, please, if you know someone who is an expert I'd love to meet them. I have a feeling this is going to happen again."

"I knew I made the right decision when I agreed to travel with you. Never a dull moment." His tone was sarcastic, but he squeezed her hand gently as he said it.

_So...he does have a soft side._

Eventually they entered a clearing next to a small stream and Bishop dropped her hand. Sliding off the pack strapped to his back with his bow, he glanced around, a satisfied look on his face. "Okay, this appears defensible enough. And there's fresh water." 

Anwen watched him for a moment as he began pulling things out to set up a camp. "I thought we were going to Riften today." She finally said, sliding her own weapons and pack off her back.

"Yes, well," Bishop said, pulling out pieces of their shared tent, "I also didn't think we'd be fighting a dragon along the way. We're all a bit injured, and for the sake of healing, we should rest and continue tomorrow. We have a long journey ahead of us, and I'd prefer to do it at full strength." And with the movement of his arms, Anwen saw the nice sized hole on his forearm, a clear burn straight through to the skin. A large, nasty blister already beginning to form. This was in addition to the existing one on his face. However, Bishop either didn't feel the pain, wasn't bothered by the pain, or was an expert at masking it. Karnwyr, though, whimpered a bit as he sat down and Anwen turned to see that he, too, was burned, a significant patch of fur completely missing. The wound looked serious too.

"By the Gods, Karnwyr! And your arm Bishop. Let me-" Anwen made to walk towards him, but Bishop shook his head. "I'm fine princess, I don't need sympathy." He pulled the small bottle out of his side pouch that he'd used on her. "I'll drip some of this on it, it'll be fine."

"It needs bandaged too. And your cheek should be cleaned and covered. I do know a small bit of healing magic."

"Woman, I'm fine! And no damn magic."

"Listen, Mr. Tough Guy, do you want to get an infection and die? Or are you immortal and just forgot to let me know?"

Bishop scowled, "Gods, just do it, if it'll get you to stop nagging me about it."

Anwen grinned.

"Oh, shut up, ladyship."

"I said nothing."

"You didn't win an argument."

"Oh, but I think I did."

"Argh! To Oblivion with you woman, you're impossible!"

"One could say the same about you."

And Bishop had nothing to say back to that.

So, after much grumbling from the ranger, Anwen cleaned and bandaged his wounds, and then Bishop turned to do the same for Karnwyr.

She watched him work with concern. "Will he be alright? Is he at risk for infection too?"

"Don't worry ladyship. It's not the first injury he's had, nor the first burn. I know how to handle it. We were attacked one time by a crazy mage who enjoyed throwing around fire, while summoning a flame atronach. Good times. I lost a good set of armor that day. And an almost an eyebrow."

Karnwyr whined at the initial touch, but mostly stayed quiet while Bishop tended to him. Anwen sat down and stroked the white wolf's head, which clearly calmed him down. When she looked up from smiling at Karnwyr, it was to find Bishop staring at her, with a smile on his own face.

"What?"

"Nothing. He just really likes you. And he doesn't usually take to anyone else but me."

"I guess I'm not just anyone then, huh?"

"No, sweetness, you definitely are not." 

His words were soft, a flicker of something like hunger crossing his face, his eyes locking onto hers.

Then he was looking away and putting all his attention back on Karnwyr. Anwen got back on her feet, pretending to search for an item in her bag.

"You'll be okay buddy." Bishop said gently. "Just rest." He stroked Karnwyr, his face now impassive. 

Anwen decided to continue putting the tent together. Anything to ignore the intense moment they'd just had. It was easy to brush off the half-naked kiss. She'd been freezing and wrapped up in his arms. Bishop was a good looking man, she'd already admitted that to herself; and despite how much she wanted to deny it, she was beginning to feel attracted to him. So, it wasn't that much of a surprise the moment filled with sexual tension. Especially as the only thing between them were a few pieces of cloth. Although, she thought, tying leather to one of the poles, earlier, he brought it up as though he wanted to talk about it. She, however, preferred to pretend it never happened.

Yet, thinking about this sent Anwen back to that moment. Her face flushed as she remembered how his bare skin felt against her own, the way his lips touched against her neck, his hands wandering down her back. And a yearning, the passion of those few minutes, came back, stealing through her veins and leaving her feeling light headed as unbidden images shot through her head of Bishop on top of her and-

"I'm going to go get some firewood." She said abruptly and loudly, dropping the pole she was holding and abandoning her work to finish setting up the roof of their shelter.

Bishop looked up in surprise from where he'd been trying to start a fire, "Okay, that's not a bad idea. But don't you want-" 

Anwen ran off before he could finish his sentence, grabbing the lit lantern, a dagger still sheathed on her hip. Straight into the thick grove of trees. Twilight was stealing over the forest, deepening shadows with every passing minute. Soon, without light, it'd be too dark to see a thing.

She stopped for a moment and leaned her back against a tree, setting the silver lantern down, and dropping her face into her hands.

_You have got to think clearly. What about Cael? You can't seriously be thinking about being that way with Bishop? You know you fell in love with Cael._

**_Well, it's not about love with Bishop. It's lust. But I can't. I won't.  ....I haven't see Cael or heard from him. What if he's dead?_ **

_He's not dead! Don't even think that._

And with unpleasant clarity, because that's how her brain liked to torture her, the last moment she saw Cael flashed through her head, the last kiss, the last look. His hands brushing against her cheek. The sadness haunting his face. And the terrifying nightmare she'd had of him burning, the one that plagued her sleep; and, for the first time, since that fateful night in Riverwood, Anwen let herself break down and cry, sliding down to sit on the thick tree roots, as her eyes filled and her body began to shake. So many emotions were fighting to spill out that they needed to become tears before she did something stupid. Or broke down like this in front of Bishop. That she did not want to do. He'd seen enough of her inner weaknesses, kept her alive multiple times when she couldn't seem to help herself. Gods, she knew she was stronger than this and never wanted him to think otherwise. And sometimes, letting the pain out was the best way to harden and live to fight another day. Because she must live to fight another day. She never asked for this destiny of being Dragonborn and still didn't want it; but, Akatosh was showing her she must embrace it. Either way death was a possibility, but at least, if she fought, she had a chance to survive. For the dragons were returning, no matter how she felt about it. Anwen knew that in her heart.

So, she let the tears fall. Until there was nothing left in her. Until she felt hollow and drained. Until the darkness became too black and it was time to head back to camp. It was dangerous to be out here, this late, alone, shouting abilities or not. She was vulnerable. In the break between a few tree trunks, Anwen could see the flickering orange light of the fire from their campsite. But, as she got back on her feet, there was a loud *CRACK*, from somewhere behind her. Like someone had stepped on a twig or branch.

Anwen turned around, sensing someone or something just beyond her vision. No more noise followed the initial sound. Just trickles of moving water from the nearby creek and the chirping of nighttime insects. Anwen drew her dagger and held out her other hand, pulling a ball of fire to cast light into the surrounding trees, but she couldn't see anyone. Just creepy shadows bouncing around, cast by the flame in her hand.

She gasped. For a moment, she swore she saw the reflection of a pair of eyes behind a huge tree not far from her.

"Who's there?" She demanded. "Show yourself." No one answered. Anwen continued to peer into the darkness surrounding her, but all she saw was dancing shadows and the forest's ghostly outline before it faded into nothing. It's just my imagination, she told herself; but, that didn't stop her heart from beating a bit faster.

There were still wild animals and bandits living and lurking everywhere. Predators traveling in packs and groups, more than a match for just one person, Dragonborn or not. Her shouting advantage could only help so much. Bishop was far enough away that someone could grab her before she was able to scream. It was foolish to leave herself so vulnerable.

_No. Never again. Bandits. No. No. No._

And it the was the memories of what happened last time she was alone in the woods that caused her to close her fist, extinguishing the fire and take off running as hard as she could towards the light, towards the safety of Bishop, not daring to look back, for fear of what she might see following her.

"Anwen?!" Bishop stood up quickly, his hand immediately on his weapon as she came sprinting into camp, barely able to breathe. He grabbed her as she dropped the ebony dagger with clatter, and stumbled into his arms. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you being chased by something, or someone?"

"I-don't-know," She gasped. "I thought-bandits, stalking-us...fuck, I left the-lan-tern..." She pointed back towards the trees, her other arm clinging to his neck.

"Sit down princess." His voice was sharp. Leading her to a log he'd pulled up by the fire that now made up the center of their camp, he picked up and shoved a mug of something hot into her hands. "Drink." He ordered, grabbing his bow and arrows. "I'll check it out. Guard." He ordered Karnwyr, the bandaged wolf walking over to sit beside Anwen.

And he ran off, soon swallowed up by the pitch black of the moonless night.

With apprehension, Anwen watched the place where he'd disappeared. He'll be fine, he can take care of himself, knows how to hide, to hunt and track, she reminded herself repeatedly, taking a sip of what he'd handed her. Strong tea, with a shot of whiskey. The burn felt good in her throat. She stared into the crackling fire and kept drinking, anything to keep away the memories of what happened to her in that bandit cave from being triggered again in her head.

By the time Bishop came back, the mug was empty. However, it wasn't until she saw the familiar rugged features lit up by the firelight that a real calmness fell over her as one long, relieved breath escaped her lungs. 

"Nothing there ladyship." He said, setting the lantern down and placing his bow and arrows to lean against the log next to Anwen. He also had a few pieces of wood in his hands and crouched in front of the fire. "I did a thorough check, carefully of course. If someone, or something was out there, I'd have found them, or it."

"I was so sure. I guess it was my imagination. I'm sorry." She said, fatigue settling into her bones. She rubbed a hand across her forehead and eyes. "I didn't mean-"

"No, don't apologize. Better to be over-vigilant than reckless. And after what happened to you," Bishop paused, poking a stick into the fire to stir up the hot coals, causing sparks to shoot up into the air. He added a small log. "Well, it's understandable you'd be easily spooked."

Embarrassment creeped across Anwen's face and she knew her cheeks had reddened. 

"Fuck you Bishop!" She snapped, standing up abruptly. "I am NOT easily spooked. I fucking saw someone!"

Bishop turned back from the fire, staring at her in surprise. "Oi, ladyship! No need for the language, I wasn't implying-oh nevermind." He cut off his sentence, clearly irritated.

"No. Don't you dare ever treat me as a helpless woman just because I experienced some fucking trauma. I'm human, not weak."

Bishop was standing up now, eyes flashing. "I never said you were weak!" He said furiously. "How could you believe that after all this time, I would even think that?"

"Really? I recall you implying many a time that I was nothing more than spoiled, stupid noble girl!" She was seething, speaking through gritted teeth.

Bishop took a step closer to her, his face ablaze with anger. "Well, I'm still here aren't I? You think I'd waste my time on a useless noble girl?"

"Yes, because you get a kick out of acting like an arrogant ass, proving what a great ranger you are to the world! How you're a fucking gift to every woman you ever meet!"

She made to push past him, but he grabbed her arm.

Anwen struggled, trying to yank out of his grasp. "Get OFF Bishop!"

"No, not until you calm the fuck down." He growled.

Bishop twisted her arm behind her back, not painfully, but firmly, and slid his other arm around her waist, pinning her free hand with his. He pulled her tightly into his body. 

"Let. Me. Go." Anwen tried to wiggle away, but knew he was too strong. She was forced to be face to face with him. Their lips barely inches apart now.

"No."

"Bishop. Let. Go." She hissed. 

"I know what your problem really is, princess." He said quietly. The way he was looking into her eyes made her stomach flutter, threatening to melt her rage away and replace it with something else. They were burning with the same fire she'd seen on the mountain; but, more fiercely. And it wanted to completely consume her. Bishop wanted to consume her.

Her heart beat faster. 

"Yeah, and what's that ranger?" She asked haughtily, trying to still sound angry. She hated he had this damn affect on her and refused to give in to it.

"I've seen you watching me." he replied, in a voice that somehow sounded deeper than usual, low, the rumble silky and sensual. "And what's more," He continued, "I know you've seen me look at you. I know that you can see, feel that I want you. I need you. I have to have you, sweetness."

Dizzy with growing desire, Anwen's body relaxed against his, her breath quickening with every second he spoke.

"No promises or regrets. Just one night. Tell me you don't want me, princess. Tell me you don't want to know all the things I want to do to you." The words slipped smoothly from his inviting lips, thick with a carnal lust. "Tell me you don't want me. And I'll let you be." He ran a thumb across her mouth, and a sigh, unwillingly, escaped, her eyelids fluttering closed. "But we both know you'd be lying." He whispered into her ear, gently biting her earlobe, sending tingles down her neck. He was melting like warm chocolate over her senses, sweet and tempting, threatening to overwhelm her and destroy all her resolve.

_"Bishop..."_

*WHOOSH*

An arrow came out the darkness, flying close behind his head.

They jumped apart, Anwen stumbling a little as Bishop pulled her down to the ground.

"What the hell?!" He said loudly, crawling towards his bow.

Another arrow shot over him. It slammed into a tree directly behind where he was crouching.

"Stay Karnwyr. Down." He commanded the snarling white wolf.

Scanning the dark frantically for whatever was attacking, Anwen unsheathed her dagger, a ball of lightning crackling in her left hand. 

Bishop had nocked an arrow, looking for a target. But it was too late.

Four men and two women, clad in leather and fur, dropped out of the night, bows raised, circling Bishop, all with arrows pointed at his heart.

"Stand up, both of you." Commanded one of the men.

They did, slowly, Bishop scowling.

"Now drop it _Nord_." Confused, Anwen wondered why all their focus was on him.

Looking murderous, Bishop let his dagger and bow fall to the ground. He stood there, glaring at each of them in turn. "What, in Oblivion, do you want, Forsworn? And why the fuck are you this far from the Reach?"

No one said a word.

"Anwen," Bishop said, his eyes on the arrows pointed at his chest, "Run."

"No." It came from the shadows. Another male voice. Soft, but with the strength of steel in it's tone.

Tall, muscular, with messy blonde hair and dark war paint around his blue eyes, he walked into the center of his gathered people, who parted to let him through.

Anwen gasped, dagger dropping from her hand, magic extinguished from her palm, her mouth open in utter shock.

And with one quick motion, Cael drew his blade and held it right against Bishop's throat. 


	11. When It All Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cael and Bishop finally meet. And it doesn't end well.
> 
> Was everything over before it ever even began?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split between Bishop and Anwen's POV.

 

The Ranger's Side

Bishop was pissed off.

It wasn't the cold steel against his skin. He'd had a knife at his throat before.

It wasn't all the arrows pointed at him. Not the first time he'd been outnumbered in a fight.

None of that mattered.

What mattered was Anwen. And what would happen to her once they killed him.

A group of Forsworn had clearly tracked them to their camp. She hadn't been paranoid after all. He was annoyed with himself at being outmaneuvered by Forsworn hunters. He was better than that.

Bishop hated the Forsworn, for reasons he'd never shared with Anwen. And not for the typical "Skyrim belongs to the Nords" bullshit. It was all coming to the surface now and he desired nothing more than to knock this piece of shit on his face. Drive a dagger into his cold heart. Because if he knew anything about the Forsworn, it was that they were savages and without mercy. Worse than bandits. 

If the blazing blue eyes looking at his could kill, well, he'd be dead already. There was murder written all over this asshole's face. Not shocking really. After all, he was Forsworn.

_So, why hasn't he killed me yet? And taken Anwen? Why, instead, are we in this tense standoff?_

Wait...unless...

Something clicked in his mind.

"CAEL! STOP! NO!"  Fear colored Anwen's stranged cry.

Bishop gritted his teeth.

_Of course. Lover boy. And I'm the one on the wrong side of his blade. Naturally._

_Because I'm between him and Anwen._

She'd run over, and was now hovering between them, eyes wide, hands over her mouth, staring up at the blonde man holding the knife to his throat.  

It was an odd moment. Bishop unable to move without the possibility of cutting his own throat, adrenaline pumping as his eyes darted from one person to next, watchful for any unexpected movement from his attackers.  

"Why." The Forsworn asked in a quiet, but very deadly voice. "Why should I let him live?"

A tense silence followed his question.

_Dammit woman, say something._

Cael, whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was, had not looked towards Anwen, but kept his eyes trained on Bishop. In the background the ranger could sense Karnwyr's desire to pounce. With the slightest of movement of his fingers, that he hoped the still injured white wolf could see, he signaled him to stay put.

Anwen's voice was shaky. "Cael, he wasn't hurting me. Please, don't. Gods, please. Don't kill him."

"My sparrow, I saw what he was doing. I saw you struggling. I saw him forcing himself on you."

The soft voice dripped with hatred. 

Bishop was amused and furious in equal measure.

 _Force myself on her? What the fuck?_   _And sparrow? Seriously? What the hell kind of name is that?_

"It's not...he wasn't. Cael, please, just...can we all take a deep breath? Let him go. I'll explain." The pleading in her voice appeared to have an affect on this asshole and finally Bishop saw his grip on the dagger relax. 

"Fine, you can explain, but I'm not letting him go completely. Not just yet." Cael dropped the steel blade from Bishop's throat, scowling at him. Bishop glowered back, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the other Forsworn were keeping their arrows trained on him.

_Gods. If it weren't for Anwen, I swear..._

"Come." Cael took Anwen's hand and started to move towards the edge of their camp. "Let's talk in private, sweet one."

Anwen turned to look at Bishop as Cael led her away. He saw regret in her eyes. The chaos of the situation. Shock and sadness and turmoil at the position in which she was leaving him.

The fury that knotted in Bishop's stomach made him clench his fists as he followed the two with his gaze until they disappeared into the shadows.

A few minutes passed. 

"Anyone care for a drink?" Bishop asked to the group around him. 

Not a damn word.

"Well, is it okay if I have one?"

A growl came from the guy on his left "Don't move Nord." 

"Oh, so you _do_ speak. Good to know."

"Shut. Up."

 

Anwen and Cael

Before Anwen could say anything, Cael had wrapped his strong arms around her and hugged her so tightly it felt like her ribs would crack.

"My sparrow, I've been looking for you for so long. I was so scared."

"Gods, Cael, I thought you were dead." She buried her face in his chest, allowing hot tears to spill down onto his skin. He smelled like she remembered. Spice and wood. Like the earth weaved into every pheromone of his hard body. 

"I almost was. The thought of you kept me going."

And then he was kissing her with tender, soft lips, the saltiness of her tears mixed with the honeyed taste of his mouth. The passion between them grew so intense that he lifted her off the ground and when they finally broke apart, he held onto her, moaning into her hair. "My beautiful Anwen. How I've missed you."

However, after a few seconds, Cael's demeanor changed abruptly. He held her back away from him, so his face was focused directly on hers. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she knew those beautiful blue eyes were fixated on her own. "Who is that man with you? What is going on? Why did it look like he was trying to kiss you? I thought-I thought he was trying to hurt you."

Anwen bit her lip, looking down at her feet, suddenly awkward and embarrassed that he'd witnessed such an intimate moment with Bishop. Guilt covered her like an icy frost, the words frozen on her tongue, leaving her unable to speak.

Cael appeared to sense this. He gently lifted her chin back up, a thumb drifting across her bottom lip, his other hand brushing a lone stray lock of hair off her cheek. A silent gesture to release her body from this tension she was putting it through. "Please, my love, tell me."

The depth of his care, his clear love for her, left Anwen trembling with mixed emotions, so overwhelming a lump was forming in her throat. She forced herself to meet his eyes again. "He-I...he's my traveling companion. I hired him to help me navigate Skyrim. After what happened. Before."

Cael's question was halting. His voice hesistant. "Is there...something between you two?" 

The look on his face stabbed at her heart, the sharp edge of his pain palpable, darting across her chest. Sorrow. Confusion. Heartbreak.

Anwen looked away, no longer able to meet his eyes. "No. Not feelings." Her reply was quiet, but it wasn't how she meant to say it, and the second the words slipped out, Anwen instantly regretted her actions.

"I see." His soft voice hardened and he let go of her, taking a step back.

Anwen turned her eyes back on him and grabbed his hand as he tried to turn away. The solid, normally unyielding strength of her sweet Cael was somehow diminished, his broad shoulders slumped, his head down.

Desperate to undo the damage, she found herself almost shouting. "Cael! I haven't slept with him! I swear! I-I didn't want to kiss him. I was trying to pull away, but he wasn't letting go!"

"So, he WAS trying to force himself on you." Cael growled, turning around so suddenly his hand was yanked from her grasp. And for the second time since Anwen had known him, a change came over Cael. Something animal-like in power. Eyes darkened, rage radiating in burning waves.

"I'll kill him." 

His tone was terrifying.

In a fit of rage, Cael made to storm back to flickering light of the camp through the trees. To Bishop.

"No!" Anwen reached for his arm, trying to pull him back. "Do not hurt him. Please." Her small hand was clutching at taut muscles beneath the warm, naked skin on his thick forearms. If he really wanted to go, she'd never be able to stop him.

However, Cael paused, and turned at her touch, his face softening, eyes returning to their pale blue hue, as again, they found hers.

"He's not the man you think he is." Anwen knew she was begging, but she was also aware that Cael was as protective of her as Bishop was. It was an overwhelming idea, but one she worried could end in disaster. She had to keep them from tearing one another apart.

"Is he not?" He gave her a hard look.

"He's not. Please trust me."

She watched in trepidation as he rubbed his forehead, running fingers through his hair. The aggression in his body language gave way to weariness.

For a few minutes, the only noise was the night around them. The mix of tiny whirring wings, symphonies of tree frogs, calls of the crickets, mournful hoots of an owl, a swish and sway of tree branches, the far off cry from some unknown nocturnal creature. And a chillness in the air that made her shiver.

Then he was in front of her again. Even in the shadows, she saw a sadness in his eyes. And she knew she was hurting him. Badly. 

"He cannot have you. I won't let him." Before him was the man that had saved her life. The one she awoke to. The one whose voice was tender, smooth, but deep, a seductive whisper seeping into her soul and stealing her breath, her mind, and her heart away. 

"I don't want him. I want you." But Anwen knew in her heart, part of her did want Bishop. She was troubled by this. The complications of it all. She didn't love Bishop, didn't have romantic feelings for him. Not like Cael. Right? How could she love two men?

Cael shook his head, taking her hands into his, the familiar stroke of his thumbs on her palms making her feel even worse. Her heart ached. "My lovely sparrow, please don't lie to me. I can see it on your face. You do care for him."

"It doesn't matter whether or not I do." She looked down and away from him, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks again. "I love _you_ Cael. You are everything to me. I don't want to lose you."

He didn't say anything. 

She couldn't stand it. Removing her hands from his, she wrapped her arms around his neck, on her tiptoes, trailing kisses up to his parted lips.

"Please. Believe me." She whispered. 

Because she didn't care about Bishop. Not like that. Not like the man in front of her.

And if she kept telling herself that, it would be true.

He responded. Fiercely. His arms pulling her into him by her waist, hands running up her back, his kiss rough but sweet, melting their lips together. His tongue slipping inside to play with hers. The kiss intensified until they broke apart, both breathing hard and Anwen regretting that she was wearing such thick leather armor.

Cael continued to hold her. She laid her head against the soft fur and rough leather protecting his chest, the quick beating of his heart beginning to slow down. And for awhile they simply held each other, Anwen drinking in the feel, the smell of him. Of him just being there. She allowed herself to breath in deeply, to focus on the safety of his arms, and forget all else.

Then Cael sighed, fingers stroking her hair as he let his chin rest on the top of her head. "This whole situation is not how I wanted it to be. I wanted to ask you something. But, I knew you had been called to see the Greybeards. Your Dragonborn powers have manifested, haven't they?"

Surprised, Anwen's head fell back to gaze up at him. "Yes. How did you know?" 

"My sweet sparrow, all of Skyrim heard their call for you...and the dragon attacks are getting worse." Sounding worried now, he broke from their embrace and started pacing. "I've been tracking you for a long time. After I made sure my clan was safe, I immediately went to Riverwood. However, we cannot enter any village or town as we'll be shot on site. We watched and waited for a short time, but I knew you'd moved on."

Anwen wanted to ask about the fate of his clan, what had happened on that terrible night, but this wasn't the right time. So, she stood and watched his agitated gate, his long strides back and forth between two large trees. Then something occurred to her. "Wait, was that you, in the woods, earlier?"

"I didn't mean to frighten you. We actually only caught up to you tonight. I was afraid that if I appeared out of nowhere things might get violent before you realized it was me, particularly when I saw you had a... _companion_." He said the words with some disgust. "When I saw him...touch you though. I thought he was hurting you!"

Unexpectedly he stopped pacing, and pulled her back in close, sliding a hand into her hair, holding her tenderly as his lips captured hers again before he spoke. "I didn't want to see you hurt again."

She looked up into his eyes, placing a hand on his cheek, noticing that his eyes were glistening in the shafts of moonlight peaking through the trees and wanting more than anything to take away all the pain she was causing him. _Gods, I feel like I've betrayed him. And I didn't even act on any impulse I had._

"Cael, my love, I'm so sorry that you had to worry like that." She was almost whispering. "I'm okay. I'm safe. Thank you for finding me." Her mouth brushed against his. "I love you so much."

And his lips were falling on hers in a long, passionate kiss. It may have gone on for minutes, or years, but every moment was delicious and hot and desire grew within Anwen like a wildfire. A want and need to feel him inside her again.

But then, it was over, and pressing his forehead against hers, Cael whispered, "I want to be with you, my sparrow. My need for you has never faded, nor has my love. You, too, are my everything." He kissed her on the forehead. "Yet, I fear what the others may do to the Nord without me there. Only for you, will I leave him be."

Anwen felt an urge to correct him. To tell him that the Nord's name was Bishop, but she felt it might be better to leave it. 

"Okay." She said.

However, when they go back to the campsite, before Anwen could fully comprehend what was happening, Cael walked right up to Bishop and punched him. Bishop stumbled back, his lip now bleeding.

"What the actual FUCK man!?" He yelled, feeling around his injured mouth and looking at the blood now covering his hand. 

"CAEL!" Anwen ran between them right as Bishop looked like he was going to throw a punch back. He stopped at the site of her. And gave her the dirtiest look. 

"Nice friends you have here Anwen."

She recognized the usage of her first name, as opposed to his nicknames for her, as a bad sign.

She sighed to herself and then turned back to Cael and tried to push him away from Bishop. "You said you weren't going to hurt him!" It took her a moment to get his attention. His face was livid at he stared at Bishop.

Without glancing her way, he shook his head. "No, my sparrow, I said I wouldn't kill him." The steel edge back in his voice, he shortened the distance between him and Bishop, getting up into his face so that mere inches separated them. "You dare touch her? Try to force her?"

"What?! I did no such-!" Looking more shocked now than angry, Bishop backed away, turning to Anwen. "Did you TELL him I was trying to force myself on you? What the hell Anwen?!"

"No!" She said hastily. "Bishop, I didn't!" She gave him a pleading look. But his eyes were narrowed. And full of anger.

"You know, if you'd rather be with lover boy here. I have no problem leaving you behind. That is, if I'm allowed." He growled, turning his attention back to the arrows still pointed at him, his hands raised in mock surrender.

Cael motioned with his hand and immediately the others lowered their weapons.

"But Bishop-"

He wasn't listening to her, already turning to grab his gear and his bag. Then he saw Karnwyr and stopped. The wolf was still weakened and Anwen could tell he didn't want to make him move anywhere tonight.

"Just, do what you want ladyship." He muttered, throwing his stuff back down on the ground, walking instead into the tent.

Dead silence. Except for the crackling of the fire.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all." It was the man that spoke to them earlier, calling Bishop "Nord".

Cael gave him a look that shut him right up.

Anwen watched him staring into the fire. She couldn't tell what he was feeling or thinking. His face was now blank. She didn't know if she should move. What she should do. This had all happened so fast. Part of her wanted to run to Bishop and part of her wanted to run away with Cael. Away from it all.

_What in Oblivion have I done..._

"Chief?" It was one of the women. "Chief, what do you want us to do?"

It felt weird. The way they addressed him. Like a leader, like his strength was what pushed them forward. And yet, as she watched his handsome face covered with dancing shadows, the dark warpaint around his eyes only enhancing their beautiful shade of blue. A blue that stood out, even in the orange light that lit up the camp and Anwen realized, with a start, that it was incredibly sexy.

_Yes, now is not the time for those thoughts Anwen._

She looked over at Karnwyr. His eyes were tired, but wary. She walked over and bent down to run her hands lightly across his non-damaged fur. She could hear Bishop moving around in the tent. The whole scene, the whole night, the very air sparkled like a surreal dream.

Cael was murmuring to the others and before long, it was just her and Cael. And the heavy presence of Bishop hidden by layers of furs.

She heard Cael approach from behind her. Karnwyr's throat was a low rumble, teeth now showing. "He's a friend." Anwen reassured the white wolf. And then to her surprise, Cael knelt down beside her and held out his hand for Karnwyr to smell.

"He needs more than your reassurance that I am not a threat." Cael spoke in the soft, rough voice she'd missed so much. The scent of him, the feel of his body so close was helping calm her back down. There was still a situation to be dealt with. But in this moment-

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Nope, it couldn't have been that easy.

Bishop had reappeared. He didn't even give Anwen glance, his eyes, full of hate and despise were focused solely on Cael's hand on Karnwyr's fur.

Cael stood up and both men were facing each other. Bishop was an inch or two taller, but Cael was stockier, his muscles bigger and broader than Bishop's.

Fact is, neither of them were...small.

Anwen had to stop herself from admiring the view and remember they looked like they were about to murder each other. And pretty much over her. Or their egos. Or both. Who the hell knew by now.

"I wasn't hurting him. I was letting him know I was an ally, not an enemy." Cael said quietly. The anger was back. Cold and dangerous. 

"Oh really? You are definitely not an ally." Bishop sneered. "Maybe I can't keep you away from Anwen, but you sure as hell are going to stay away from Karnwyr."

"You know, Nord, Anwen doesn't belong to you."

His eyes glittering with contempt, Bishop scoffed, a smirk at the corners of his mouth. "She doesn't belong to you either _Forsworn_. A woman like her deserves better than a savage like you. You will **never** be good enough for her."

Cael had been speaking softly up to this point, but with Bishop's pointed insult, his eyes narrowed and his voice was a low growl. "She's belonged more to me than she ever has, or will, to you."

Anwen watched Bishop's face harden, his jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

_Oh gods. I can't look. I can't look._

_...I can't look..._

 

The Ranger's Thoughts

 

Bishop was having a hard time controlling himself. 

Fuck him. The Forsworn actually dared to disrespect him like that? To say that? To mock how Bishop had never had Anwen in his bed, while stating clearly that he had. That he, a Forsworn, had her affections. And Bishop didn't.

_You don't care though._

**_You do not care. Not like that. You never did._**

His chest heaving with a fury that threatened to explode, Bishop forced himself to ignore this blatant attempt to goad him.

"Anwen belongs to no one. She can take care of herself."

"I'm well aware of that." Cael spoke in a harsh voice. His eyes were piercing Bishop's as if daring him to attack. The rage was emanating off him in waves. "So, why do you insist on acting like her bodyguard?"

"Funny. You're the one who appeared to be acting the hero. Not me."

"You put her hands on her!"

"What I do is none of your business!"

"It is, when it involves the woman that I LOVE!"

Cael had not shouted, but he'd raised his voice and this statement, intense with aggression and passion brought a silence down on all three of them.

Bishop's jealousy curled like a wicked poison in his heart.

_I can't do this. I won't do this. Not for anyone. Not for a woman. Especially as her second choice._

He turned away from Cael. Walking instead towards Anwen. 

Her big, beautiful eyes, glimmering with tears, held his own, and he knew she was sorry. But Bishop refused to show that he gave a fuck. Instead he glared at her, trying to show how little he cared. To convince them both that he didn't. "You know what Anwen. I don't think you need me here anymore. Lover boy can help you on this insane quest you have to get yourself killed."

He bent down and stroked Karnwyr, whispering to him. "I'm sorry, but we need to go." Karnwyr gave him a look that clearly said he disagreed with this decision.

Bishop gathered his pack and weapons. He was leaving anything he couldn't easily carry. Nobody spoke, but he could feel Cael watching him. 

She wasn't even trying to convince him to stay. So, maybe it _was_ better he just leave. It was clear who she cared about most. If she cared about him at all.

He had just turned to walk out of the camp when finally, Anwen spoke. Moving as if to step towards him, but, with a look at Cael's face, stopping herself.

She was choking on the tears now running down her cheeks.

"Bishop-please don't leave like this. It's not what I wanted." 

And for the last time, Bishop looked at her, his voice twisted in anguish he could no longer hide. "And it appears ladyship, that neither am I."

Then he was striding away, swallowing hard, Karnwyr's whimper echoing the pain in his chest, as he disappeared into the night. 


End file.
